A Pleasing Finale
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A fluff story as the future takes shape for our favorite team of CSIs-set post season 11.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**_ We own nothing, just enjoy putting our own ideas into little bits of fiction! Enjoy, this one is not going to be long and we are putting our "spin" on the future of our favorite CSIs!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 1**

Cool fingers lightly touched his arm; he twitched, deep in sleep. The touch stroked his skin—not in a caress, but not roughly. His mind tried to crawl from deep sleep as his hand reached to cover the fingers. His eyes struggled to open. He heard her voice before his eyes could adjust to the bright lamp light.

"What are you doing here?"

His mind clicked. Catherine—Catherine's office—the sofa in her office. And he smelled coffee.

"Gil, what are you doing here?" Catherine Willow's voice was more curious than concerned.

Gil Grissom, forty-five minutes from a nineteen hour flight, finally shook himself awake from his cramped position of sleeping while sitting upright, an elbow crooked in an attempt to support his head. Raking his hand across his face, he realized how tired he was. "I should have gone home," he mumbled, his mouth dry as desert sand. "Hoping to catch Sara." Knuckles rubbed his eyes. "Hodges said all of you were on a multiple."

Catherine handed him a mug of hot coffee and sat beside him. "I'm too old for this, Gil. Five bodies in a storage unit—Nick's the lead. Sara and Greg have two new guys with them."

Grissom wrapped hands around the coffee cup before taking a long sip. "Thanks. Five—been there long?"

Catherine reached for the cup and toed off her shoes. "Oh, yeah. Wrapped in plastic—probably two years up to recently." She laughed. "I know this will make or break the new group, but so far so good. I think I picked the best of the recruits." Propping her feet on the table in front of her, Catherine brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I think its time, Gil."

Grissom's eyebrow arched; he had heard this same line from Catherine on numerous occasions. However, this time a certain tone in her voice made him think a change was coming.

"You'll know when its time, Cath. Don't wait too long."

She smiled. "Sara says you have a grant—a big one this time."

He nodded. "Back to Costa Rica—where it all started. Both of us this time."

Catherine laughed, making a face only she could achieve. "And all this time I thought you two started out here—at the lab! Dear God, I'm going to miss her!"

Grissom ignored her jab. "What are you going to do?"

She eased back on to the sofa, wrapping both hands around the hot cup. "Travel—I'm going places I've only read about," she made a soft laugh. "Not the jungle or rainforest like you and Sara, but London, Milan, Venice, Paris, Rome—maybe Barcelona. Nick and Greg are good—they will have two, maybe three new guys—well trained by the time I get around to leaving."

Grissom made an agreeable sound.

Catherine continued, "Linds graduates from college this year. She wants to work for Sam's business and the board is thrilled she's interested. But before she enters that world, we are going to travel."

"What about your love life?" His question was asked as a tease.

Catherine settled further back, stretching legs and feet to the center of the table. Her forehead puckered slightly before she smiled. "Perhaps he'll join me." She hesitated. "You know—you've always known I suspect—the true love of my life slipped away—married someone else when I wasn't paying attention."

Another sound came from Grissom. "Warrick—I always knew there was something between you two."

"I wish there had been more—unlike you and Sara, I was afraid to take that road—or our timing was off." She sighed, "Things just never fell into place for us."

Several moments of silence followed as both remembered Warrick Brown. Finally, Catherine spoke "Once Sara told me she had always loved you."

He chuckled, "She does say that. Truth told, I actually fell in love with her the first time we met…"

"The photograph on your refrigerator—San Francisco."

He nodded. "She was so young, so energetic, laughed so easily, so much of what I wasn't—when she came to Vegas, I thought it would be easy."

Catherine snorted, laughing, "That explains a lot!"

"What does that mean?"

"You sent her on trash runs, decomps, crawling under houses! Stuff no one wanted to do—you sent Sara! I wondered for years why she stayed with us—except if she was doing the nasty work it meant I didn't have to do it!"

"I didn't want to show favoritism."

"You didn't." She nudged her shoulder against his. "Tell me—when did you actually—you know," her hand waved in a twirling motion. "Come on—tell me!"

Grissom grinned. "We were always together, Catherine." He twirled his hand in a way to imitate hers. "But what you're talking about—it was a Sunday." His voice mellowed as he remembered. "We had a body in a ditch off Fort Apache Road—it was when Ecklie had separated us and Sofia had the night off."

_Spring 2005: _

_Grissom waved an assignment slip at Sara Sidle, who was sitting across the table from Greg Sanders. A newspaper was spread between them. "We've got a dead one—let's go."_

_Greg, always eager, jumped first, bumping the table, noisily scooting his chair on the floor, causing everything on the table to move. "Shot gun!" _

_Sara rose from her chair with her usual ease and grace. "In your dreams, dear. I'll drive." Her head moved in Grissom's direction. "The boss rides shot gun." _

_Grissom tossed her the keys._

_A slow night for crime, they easily found the place with all the police cars blocking the highway and lights spotlighting the body. Yellow crime tape marked an area half the size of a football field—most of it down a steep embankment. Grissom watched as the two younger, more agile CSIs rappelled down the almost vertical bank to a trash-filled ditch. He talked to Jim Brass as several others clipped belts and harnesses to rope and followed Sara and Greg. It took all of them to place the body on a stretcher and haul it to the highway. _

"_Nothing down there but trash—looks like he washed out of one of the flood drains," Brass said as he pointed north. _

_Grissom frowned. "When did it rain?" _

_Brass checked his notepad. "Three days ago. He was found when a homeless couple was going through the trash along the ditch—looking for anything they might use." _

_Grissom found the couple drinking coffee from paper cups. Their story was familiar but they could provide no information about the man they had uncovered. When the body was brought to the highway, Grissom took a quick look at the advanced decomposition and knew the man had been dead much longer than five days. _

_By the time Greg and Sara joined him, holding bags filled with damp trash, they smelled as bad as the body. _

"_We collected as much of the small stuff as we could," Sara explained. _

"_No identification?"_

_Both heads shook. "Dave said to leave it for the morgue—the body is pretty much mush," Sara added. _

_At the morgue, they stripped and changed into coveralls, but the smell of wet garbage and decomp clung to their hair and pores; Doc Robbins did not appear to notice as he and Dave worked on the body. They finally pulled a soaked, old wallet from an area in the vicinity of a hip._

_Grissom found name and address on an old driver's license issued in Florida. "It's expired but might help identify him," he said as he placed the faded plastic card into an evidence bag along with a few coins and the wallet. He pulled a magnifying glass over the card. "If this belongs to our vic, he's nearly eighty!" _

"_Lots of post-mortem wounds and he could be eighty," Doc Robbins said as he examined the body. "Let me look inside—nothing obvious."_

The three CSIs quickly left the room; none wanted to be around for opening of this body.

***Catherine's office:

Grissom closed his eyes as he leaned against the corner of the sofa. "Remember those old showers—never enough hot water—and the women used the back side?"

Catherine nodded, "Yeah."

"I thought Sara and Greg had gone for the night—I heard Greg leave—there wasn't anything happening. So I went in to shower and heard Sara singing—can't tell you what it was—she was certain she was alone. Instead of leaving, I sat on one of the benches and listened." He smiled at the memory. "And I smelled lemons. She was washing her hair with lemons to remove the odor of decomp." He shifted and took the coffee cup from Catherine, taking a sip before continuing. "Right there, I decided it was time to do something—even if it was wrong!"

Catherine said nothing, knowing fatigue and lack of sleep caused Grissom to be in a reflective, talkative mood. He continued, "Finally, she came out, fully dressed, and saw me sitting there like a—like a bug on a windshield—and said something—I don't remember what she said but I do remember thinking she was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen and I knew what a fool I had been. So I asked her to go to breakfast and we did."

Open-mouthed, Catherine stared for a long minute. "That's what you call getting together? Come on, Gil—there's more to it than that!"

His eyebrow shot up. "Nope. After that day, we were never apart. A few months later—after Nick was kidnapped—she moved in with me and after a while we bought the condo." He chuckled. "The details will be kept between me and my wife—but now you know how this stubborn fool finally figured out what to do."

_A/N: The story will continue-read, enjoy, we appreciate hearing from you!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Second chapter to start your weekend-enjoy! RATING changes for Chapter 3! _

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 2**

~~~~_Several hours later in the CSI locker room:_

"This may be your last multiple," Greg teased Sara as they shrugged disposable overalls off their shoulders. "Leaving us to deal with this kind of mess while you fly off to the jungles of Costa Rica—paradise in the rainforest!" He laughed as he struggled to get his arms out of long sleeves until Sara reached to help.

"We are not leaving yet, Greg." She stepped out of the protective clothing and skillfully folded it into a small bundle for the trash. "Actually, I'm excited—you should visit us. We'll be there for three months, back here for a month or so, and then return for another three months. It really is a spectacular place—all kinds of things to do including surfing on two coasts."

"Won't you be in the middle of a jungle—studying bugs, capturing slugs or something like that?"

Sara giggled. "It's not all work and no play! We're going to a research center in one of the national parks. We hope to have one of the cottages or apartments but even if we don't, we can find you a place to stay." She opened her locker, ran her finger along several photographs before pointing to one. "Here's where we'll stay—it's a quick hike to a wonderful beach."

Greg leaned over her shoulder and looked at the photograph. "Is this where the old guy found you? On the beach in a tiny bikini?" He asked, teasing her with a jab to her ribs.

She turned to face him, giving him a monk frown before smiling. "No—actually when Gil came I was in the jungle. It's not really a jungle but a great wildlife preserve and we were tracking these cute little monkeys." She laughed and questioned "Did you know what he was going to do?"

Greg took a few steps back and leaned against closed lockers. "No—I don't think anyone knew where he was going. Why?"

"It was such a surprise. I had not heard from him in days—weeks, actually—and he walked into the area where we were working, stood there looking at me! I thought I was dreaming—until he moved."

Shaking his head, Greg said: "We had no idea where he was going. Until we got your postcard, none of us knew where he was." He laughed. "Catherine laughed—said she wished she had gotten a pool started for what he was going to do!"

Sara moved to a bench and began to take off her work boots. "I don't think he told anyone—including his mother—where he was going." She snickered. "I don't think she's forgiven me yet!"

After opening his locker, Greg joined her. "I'm going to miss you, Sara. Every day."

"Ahhh, Greg." She loved him as a brother and wanted to believe he loved her in the same way. "That's sweet. You've always been a good friend—more than a good friend. And you are invited to visit us. We'd love to have you."

Greg dropped his boots to the floor and reached for clean clothes. "You know, I was angry at Grissom for a long time—I'm not sure I've ever really forgiven him for not going after you the first time you left us."

Several minutes passed before Sara said, "Don't blame him—I had so much going on I needed to escape. From everyone for awhile. I hope I never step into that darkness again." She folded a change of clothing over her arm. "You know, the shrink called it post-traumatic stress, and I guess it was. I was so overwhelmed by everything—Natalie, the way Ernie Dell died for her, and then crazy Hannah West. In the desert that night, I kept thinking about my own father—in a way he died for me."

Greg ducked his head, surprised to hear this remark. He knew Sara's mother had killed her father and he had assumed an abusive relationship. He kept his head down and remained quiet.

Sara sighed. "Did I ever tell you about my parents?"

"No, not much."

"We never had much of a home—lots of fighting, lots of broken things, frequent moves. My mother's mental condition would deteriorate; she would get treatment and come back home. School was a sanctuary—a place of peace and safety. My father knew this—now I know he was overwhelmed, drank too much, couldn't keep a job, and the night he was killed, my mother had destroyed nearly everything in the house. My father had been drinking; otherwise, he would have gotten us out of the house, but when he tried to stop her—she had taken a knife to my books—she turned on him with a fury that was unfathomable."

Greg placed his hand on her back and moved it in circles. "I'm sorry, Sara."

She lifted a hand in a wave. "I can finally talk about it without feeling guilty. I was a kid. My mentally ill mother was abusive; my sober gentle father a cruel drunk. For a long time, I thought if I had not tried to save my books, my mother would not have killed my father and that would have made things okay." She made a distressed laugh. "But now, I believe more in Grissom's butterfly effect—what happened that night began years before and nothing I could have done would have changed things."

She laughed again, more cheerful. "When I met Gil, I knew I loved him. I knew I would be safe with him. I knew I would find my sanctuary with him—a gut instinct, intuition—call it what you will—but I had this unusual peaceful feeling around him that I had never experienced with anyone else." She looked at him for the first time since she had sat down. "I loved him from the first conversation we had—truthfully, I would have followed him to the end of the world after that. Instead, I came to Vegas where we danced around until one day—around the corner, in the shower room—he asked me to have breakfast with him."

"In the shower?" Greg asked with a grin.

"Not in the shower—but when I came out of the shower, he was sitting there and asked if I wanted to eat breakfast. After that day, I don't think we were apart for more than a few hours for months." Thoughtfully, she added, "My safe haven—he made a home for us, Greg—and until Natalie, we were safe, secure, so very happy in our private world! When he took the sabbatical—that was the first time we were physically separated for any length of time."

It was Greg's turn to look puzzled. "Where was I when all this was going on?"

Sara giggled. "Right here—with everyone else! We thought everyone would know—we thought you would notice right away! And it was months before you figured out I was no longer living in my apartment!"

"I remember how you avoided answering my questions!"

She became serious again. "When I left the first time—which was an awful thing to do to everyone, but especially to Gil—he kept saying he understood, but I don't think he really did. Not for several weeks—not until we both talked to a psychiatrist. I was in a very dark place but managed to make a lot of progress on my mental health and then Warrick died. I thought I was coping until Pam Adler and I felt I was falling into an abyss again. We both needed a break from everything. I knew Gil needed a break." She shook her head, "But he would not leave. He insisted on staying here and for the first time in a very long time, I thought I had lost him. He was crawling into that same dark hole I had just escaped from and I was trying to pull him out and he refused," she laughed. "Stubborn man!"

Greg listened, fascinated. He had heard bits and pieces of this story, but nothing as completely as Sara was telling him. He said, "He was pretty depressed for weeks." He turned to face her. "We had a case—a young girl died and we ended up at the old Chateau Rouge casino. If walls could talk, I'd have a bestseller book! I don't know what happened but I've always tied that case to Grissom's decision to leave."

"He told me about that case—missed opportunities, he said." She smiled. "I need to shower—I know I smell…"

"Sara!" Nick filled the doorway as his voice filled the locker room. "What are you doing in here? Catherine's office—now!" He waved an arm in an exaggerated motion and pointed in the direction of the office.

Puzzled looks appeared on both faces.

Nick grinned. "Get in there, girl! She's looking for you!"

"For us?" Greg asked, standing up with Sara.

Nick shook his head and stepped aside so Sara could leave the room; a perplexed look on her face as she passed him. Behind her back, he mouthed one word to Greg. The two men followed her down the hall.

Greg whispered, "We smell—she never showered."

"He won't care," Nick responded, his grin spreading across his face.

_A/N: Remember, rating changes for Chapter 3! Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: And a rating change-enjoy! _

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 3**

Sara hurried, faintly aware of Nick and Greg following her. Hopefully, Catherine did not have another assignment, she thought. She wanted a shower. She needed to pick up Hank; she needed to buy groceries. And she wanted to get the house cleaned for Grissom's return. She walked faster.

Grissom's return—as usual he had postponed his return. It was a running joke between them now. He would schedule a trip for four weeks, then add two weeks once he arrived to work on a project. Quite often the two weeks became another six days as he worked to "finish up" as he called it. And now they had a grant that provided funds for both of them to work in Costa Rica. For nearly three years Grissom had been working to find financial backing to monitor caterpillars and the Earthwatch Institute had finally funded his proposal. She was happy—Grissom was ecstatic. They would spend at least six months of the next year in Costa Rica, together every day—she smiled.

She saw Catherine's head bent over the desk, stacks of files in front of her. Sara stopped at the door.

"Nick said you wanted to see me."

Catherine smiled as a greeting. "I don't." Baffled, Sara glanced behind her at Nick. Catherine said, "But I think you want to see who's asleep over there!" She waved a hand in the direction of the sofa.

Sara swirled around, immediately recognizing the sleeping man stretched the length of the couch, covered in a lightweight blanket. "Gil!" It was half whisper, half breathless, said in an intimate greeting. She turned back to Catherine as her feet moved her toward her husband. "When? I didn't expect him back for two more days!" She crouched beside Grissom.

Her hand went to his face; her fingers combed through his hair. Gently, she leaned to his forehead and kissed him. "Gil," her hushed voice unexpectedly quivered. She kissed him again.

Behind her, Greg and Nick leaned into the office and watched. Catherine rose from her desk and walked to the door. She swept her hand toward the hallway. "Out—both of you!" She pushed them ahead of her and pulled the door closed. "He's been gone six weeks—they deserve a little privacy!"

Grissom knew her touch in deep sleep—those long, slim fingers were unlike any others. At first he thought he was dreaming of her presence, as he often did—an image so powerful he could feel the tips of her fingers threading through his hair while he slept. Then he felt her lips on his face. It was no dream, he realized.

"Sara," he murmured before opening his eyes. "My sweet Sara." His hand moved from underneath the blanket Catherine had provided. She found his hand—or he found hers—and he brought it to his lips. "I didn't mean to sleep."

"I didn't know you were here." She quietly said, emotion choking her words. She kissed him again and hungrily sought his lips. Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him as she welcomed him home. Their lips barely separated as he sat up and pulled her into his arms.

"I've missed your physical company," he said when they finally parted for a breath of air, their foreheads touching, her hands framing his face while his hands worked into her hair. His words brought lips together again in a long passionate kiss.

Sara pulled away when they needed to breathe again. "Oh, Gil, I smell! I never took a shower!"

"I smell—I've been on and off airplanes for twenty hours." He grinned. "Let's go home—take a shower together—get really clean—and do other things I've missed!"

Later, Sara would insist they had said goodbye to everyone, but this was denied by others. And she really did not remember seeing anyone as they left the lab and got to her car. They did stop for several traffic lights—she remembered because they had kissed for so long at one traffic light that several cars honked when the light turned green and she did not move.

Automatically, they moved into the house, bumping into recycle bins and trash cans, a shoe rack and a basket of clothes before slowing down. Desire pulsed through veins as Grissom stopped, tightened his grasp, and pushed Sara against the refrigerator.

"I have you," he said gently trying to hide the need that was making his insides clench. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her; Sara's arms slipped around his neck as he deepened the kiss.

"Gilbert," Sara's voice was infused with emotion as she drew out his name. Grissom felt himself hardened as his heart seemed to melt. Only Sara could say his name and cause this reaction. His lips closed around her earlobe. His hands tugged at her shirt as he searched for her soft skin. His palm cupped her firm breast as he pushed her bra up and drew his thumb across the nipple. Instantly, it budded. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Sara's reaction was immediate; she softly gasped and tightened her grip as she buried her face against his shoulder. She felt as if he were rescuing her from drowning.

Grissom thought he was the one who was drowning. He was lost in her warmth and softness; her scent, the sweetness his nose remembered, claimed his senses. His brain was not conscious of any disagreeable aroma. He ached to be deep inside her and feel her intimate release.

Finally, Sara pulled him into the bedroom, both leaving shoes and clothing in their wake. She arched herself against him, moaning softly, as they kissed, tongues tangling, lips burning. He stoked his hand the length of her, pausing at her breast, her hip, her thigh. Grissom's palm moved to the warm skin of her inner thigh; the heat from her nearly drove him mad.

When his hand closed over the damp place between her legs, Sara whispered, "Gil—shower."

"I don't care—you're ready."

Her hand stroked his groin and gathered around his erection. "Shower—in the shower."

It took a few minutes to adjust water temperature and shed the remaining remnants of clothing. Sara loosened her hold and ran to the kitchen for two lemons.

"I don't want to smell!" She said with a laugh as she stepped into the shower. Every bottle in the shower was citrus scented.

Grissom poured soap into his hand, lathered it between his palms, and began spreading the scented suds on Sara's back and shoulders. Within minutes, they were together, lemons forgotten as warm water cascaded over them. Grissom watched Sara's face as he carefully opened the soft folds that guarded her feminine secrets. He saw her touch the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth before her lips parted, her eyes closed as desire swept her.

When he gently eased one finger inside her, he almost lost what was left of self-control. She was hot, tight, and ready for him.

"Gil." She seemed to move closer; her belly rocked against his.

He kissed her neck, moving down to her breast, as his finger gently moved inside her, easing it slowly back and forth. His thumb touched the tiny sensitive bud that was concealed within the soft curls as his tongue circled and sucked her nipple. Sara made a soft cry as he continued to stroke her.

"Gil, I—I cannot—think—wait…"

"Don't wait—feel. You feel so sweet and soft and responsive. You are like liquid fire."

Her head nestled against his chin and shoulder as her body gradually began to tighten around his finger. When she began to lift herself against his hand, silently asking—demanding—more, he felt as if he had found priceless treasure. Her breathing quickened, reacting instinctively to passion. Waves of contractions surrounded his fingers as her quick orgasm flooded her body. His mouth covered hers as she shuddered and convulsed in his arms before going limp. Grissom held her, pressed against his chest, his own body throbbing with desire; his erection pressed against the dampness of her belly as he maintained control—barely.

As her breathing became normal, he turned the water off and reached for towels. Sara's look was one of delight, soaking wet, blushed cheeks—her hair a tangle of damp curls, her body slick with water. Her climax had been an appetizer for more.

Pointing toward the bedroom, her voice a soft purr, she said, "In there—we've only just begun, Gilbert!"

Neither needed a towel as they foot-raced to the bed, rolling between sheets, more giggles and laughter than talk, until Grissom was on top of her, looking into her eyes. "I want you more than I want anything else on the face of the earth."

Sara read the desire in his eyes just before he crushed her mouth gently beneath his own. His tongue plunged between her lips, tasting her as she tasted him.

Grissom's hand drifted over her, stroking, exploring, teasing. "My God, you are beautiful." He bent his head and dropped a trail of kisses in the valley between her breasts.

Sara arched against him, almost embarrassed by her urgent need for him. She touched his skin with her tongue. "You taste good," she whispered.

He gave a soft, husky laugh that dissolved into a groan. He cupped her butt and squeezed gently. "I have wanted you for weeks, dear."

Sara felt the hard length of his erection pressed against her thigh and shifted slightly so he settled between her legs.

"I want you," she whispered as she lifted against him.

He reached down and opened her with his fingers, guiding himself into her snug opening. Instinctively, her legs went around his; she ached as much as he did.

"Sara," Grissom breathed as he surged into her in one powerful stroke. "Yes. Oh, God, yes." He held himself in place—the velvet warmth surrounding the most sensitive part of his body. He had to breathe—slowly—he had to clench muscles—to keep from coming quickly.

The feeling of fullness slammed through Sara—a sensation literally indescribable. She made a soft exclamation and clutched Grissom's shoulders. This was what she missed so acutely in his absence that the act almost caused her to cry if other emotions had not been racing along her spine.

Grissom eased himself partway out of her and then pushed slowly back into her. "You feel so incredibly good—Sara, I've missed you—every day." He moved again, slowly building his pace. "Hold me, Sara."

She tightened her arms around him, moving with him as nerves and muscles responded to passion, all other thoughts pushed away. She felt herself lifting with him until spasms became waves indistinguishable from stormy tides that carried her into a whirlpool of a warm, welcoming salty sea. She wanted all of him—pulling the part of him that belonged only to her inside, holding, squeezing, trembling as their bodies seem to pulsate in unison.

A similar response occurred in her husband as his body claimed her, muscles tightened, contractions moved through his pelvis, up his spine, and crashed into his brain with his orgasm before he collapsed on top of her. It was the most intense feeling of pleasure he could experience and one he experienced only with Sara.

"I love you, Sara," he whispered. "More than I can ever say—every day we are apart I miss you."

Sara softly whispered, "Gil, you know I love you." She buried her face against his neck, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, her lips against his skin.

A long while later, Sara stirred. She was conscious of Grissom's warm thigh across her legs. His arm was wrapped tightly around her. She realized he was awake. She nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

"Gil?"

"Ummmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He squeezed his arm around her. "Nothing, dear. Can you sleep?"

"Yes."

He rolled to his side, pulling her closer, fitting his leg over hers, and pressing his groin against her hip. "Do we need to talk?"

"No," Sara whispered. "I'm so happy you are home. I've missed you so much."

He smiled. "From now on, we're together. I won't go without you."

Sara smiled and nodded; her eyes closed as he kissed her. After a moment, Sara made a soft sound as she turned, wiggling her butt as she pressed against him. Another few minutes, and rest, sleep, and desire of his wife had restored Grissom's arousal capabilities.

"Look what we've done," she giggled.

Grissom pumped his hips several times. "He's missed you too," he said as he slid under covers, grabbing her butt, and kissing her—beginning at her throat. His lips worked—tasting her skin as his hands and fingers found intimate places elsewhere that lovers know. Their second union was more playful, more physical, yet more intimate than the previous one. And after an emotional, joyous rollercoaster of pleasure, they both slept for hours in the quietness of home.

_A/N: Thank you for reading, a special thanks to those who review! and the story continues!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: A short chapter for mid-week! Enjoy!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 4**

Leisurely, they woke, got out of bed, showered again, managed to dress but were never apart for more than a few minutes. Grissom's return meant rediscovery and renewal for both; Sara would not work for several days after Grissom got home—a pattern established since her return to the crime lab. They walked to the dog sitter's and, as usual, Hank's good behavior was negated when he saw Grissom. After several minutes, the dog realized Sara was also there and turned to her.

Sara laughed. "Now you remember your mother! The one who takes care of you when your buddy is away for weeks at a time!" She bent to pat the dog and hooked leash to collar.

Their walk home took twice as long as usual as they let Hank explore every crack in the sidewalk and signpost along the way. Meandering through the park was another way of staying together, avoiding the return to routine.

"Have you talked to your mother?"

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not due back until tomorrow." His eyes danced mischievously. "Can I wait until then?"

Sara laughed. "And you haven't told her about the grant?"

His mouth formed an amused smirk before he grinned. "I know she isn't going to like having both of us gone—she's come to depend on your visits."

Sara hooked a hand around his arm. "I'll cook and you can explain the details. We can return in three months—and the flights are not that long should we need to return. And," she smiled with a sudden thought, "why don't we arrange for her to visit. I think I can get Greg to accompany her." She pressed her elbow into Grissom's side. "And Greg might forgive you at last."

Puzzled, he asked, "Forgive me for what?"

Sara giggled. "Marrying me!" She leaned against his shoulder as his arm went around her.

Grissom chuckled. "Is he still carrying a torch for you? We need to find that boy a wife!"

On the first day, they refused to settle into a routine; the television remained off while they listened to music, played with Hank, cooked food and ate on no schedule, and stayed within arms reach of each other. As she put away a few dishes, Sara felt his hand on her shoulder. He laced fingers into her hair and she flushed with anticipation. For days they would like this—unable to get enough of each other.

He kissed her all the way around her neck, a necklace of kisses, he said, as he opened his hand to reveal a delicate gold chain of lopsided X's. "So you'll always have kisses," he said as he latched the necklace in place.

They took a long time to undress each other, seeming to examine and contemplate each freckle, each dimple, and scar until arousal lay them down on the bed with its clean silky sheets. As soon as he came into her, Sara felt him try to resist, to slow his actions but the deep arcing motions of her pelvis communicated her urgency. He would want to prolong their pleasure, she thought, but her body refused to allow it. She felt his resistance dissolve and very soon his powerful strokes began. Her insides seemed to be a wet pool, sucking him in, giving way to his thrusts as a smooth tongue of rapture licked through her—as if the fluids from his body flooded her with bliss. She felt the strong spasms of her vagina suck and pull at him even as the last vestige of his own climax pumped into her. Her body felt as if she could pull the spark of life from him and they would become one eternally connected by this passionate act.

His voice filled her ear as he said, "I couldn't hold off…"

She placed a finger to his lips and smiled. It had exhausted her—she could not move. Her bones had lost their strength; a delicious tenderness was developing between her legs. She could sleep with the dampness of their fluids forming a wet spot under her butt and his softened penis still inside her. She whispered, "Mind blowing, energy depleted, unable to move."

He chuckled. "I can't get enough of you." He clasped arms around her, holding her tightly. He felt her lips touch his jaw. He had never been happier; only one worry niggled at his brain keeping him from reaching the pinnacle of personal happiness. He quickly changed his thoughts to the warm body in his arms, her hushed, slow breathing indicating sleep. A deep feeling of ease and dreaminess suffused him—a combination of after-sex pleasure and general contentment with his life—and he quickly lapsed into sleep.

Two nights later, Grissom ushered his mother into their house as Sara prepared a favorite meal. The aroma of basil, oregano, and garlic meant an Italian dinner was almost ready. The couple had worked most of the day on food—baked penne, roasted mushrooms, eggplant and squash, cheese and walnut stuffed shell macaroni, a salad of carrots, pineapple and mango. While Sara claimed she could not cook, Grissom knew this was unfounded. She cooked with the precision of a scientist and the nose of a bloodhound, able to distinguish smells and blends of herbs and spices that left Grissom speechless.

She was putting finishing touches on a lemon flavored tofu cheesecake as Grissom opened his computer to show photographs to his mother. As he signed descriptions and explanations, he talked as well. Sara smiled as she placed plates on the table. She could imagine a little Gil intently watching his mother, speaking for her when necessary, and the silent understanding between the two that still existed. She could not think about Gil as a child for long without tears forming at the backs of her eyes.

Quickly, she changed thoughts. "Dinner is almost ready!" She announced. She joined mother and son at the computer, signing "It's a beautiful place, Betty. Not all bugs but lots of beautiful birds and butterflies."

Grissom opened another set of photographs—butterflies in bright colors in a meadow of wildflowers. "All in Costa Rica, Mom," he signed. Sara moved back to the table as Betty studied her son's face. The quiet between them caused Sara to turn knowing Betty was signing. She hid her smile. Betty knew something was going on and was asking questions.

She moved so she could see Grissom.

"We have a grant to monitor caterpillars in Costa Rica." He glanced at Sara. Betty turned to look at her and turned back to her son.

Sara could not see what her mother-in-law was signing, but Grissom replied, "Sara is going too. It is a wonderful opportunity. We get to work together." He signed, adding "rainforest" by making the sign for rain and forest. As Sara knew, Grissom could do nothing wrong in the eyes of his mother; she always supported and encouraged her son. And was very proud he had rediscovered his passion for the study of insects in their natural habitat.

"Would you consider coming to visit us in Costa Rica?" Grissom signed.

Surprised by his question, Betty immediately shook her head, changed her mind, and nodded yes, signing "I would love to but I do not want to be a problem."

He grinned, looking at Sara, then back to his mother. "We can arrange it. You could help us collect caterpillars!"

Sara listened and watched as he explained the grant and work they would be doing in Costa Rica. She noticed he did not explain the full extent of the grant—three to four months of field work followed by a few weeks to organize information, then back to the field, following the life cycle of a specific caterpillar.

As Grissom closed his computer, Betty walked to Sara. "Dinner smells delicious, Sara," she signed. "And you and Gil will be together?"

Sara smiled. "Yes."

Betty held both hands in front of her and signed "Happy" and Sara responded with "Very happy."

Grissom lit candles on the table and pulled out a chair for his mother.

"I haven't opened wine," Sara said.

He pulled out the second chair. "Sit—I'll get it." After she sat down, he placed a kiss on her hair and gently cradled her neck between his hands. She looked up and he kissed her again. Moving his hands, he signed "I love this woman, Mom."

Betty smiled, genuinely happy to see her son in love. And she had grown to love his wife. She would miss both of them while they traveled to the green-soaked tropical country of caterpillars and butterflies.

_A/N: Betty made such a great mom we had to write her in! Thanks for reading, love your reviews and comments! _


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**_Thanks for reading-a longer chapter, and for those who asked-you will learn what's worrying Grissom! Enjoy!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 5 **

"Does Grissom know you are asking me this?" Greg said as he placed another slide under the microscope. "I would be thrilled to travel with mama Grissom but I want to stay on his good side!"

"Don't call her mama Grissom, Greg. She's Betty—or Mrs. Grissom." Sara snickered as she handed him another slide. "She explained to me that I could call her 'Betty', not 'Mother' or 'Mother Grissom' or any other appellation! Her son calls her 'mom'—not her daughter-in-law. As for traveling, Gil thinks it will be a good idea—he really doesn't want her traveling alone—she probably would not come. But if we make plans, have it all scheduled, then she will come and so will you!"

"Maybe we can come before Catherine leaves for her trip of a lifetime—do you think she will really go?" He looked at the last slide. "Every one had fiberglass fibers in their throat. Some of the fibers have an odd swelling—others don't."

Sara wrote his findings on a paper. "Catherine—I think she's leaving. She's ready—and Lindsey is going to work for Sam's group. Did you know Catherine had been working for years when she found out Sam was her father?" Greg looked up, surprised. In a whisper, Sara said, "She tested her DNA with Sam's—when he was a suspect. And as soon as Catherine leaves county employment, she gets a big share of Sam's money."

"She never talks about it."

"No, she doesn't." Sara chuckled. "But her clothes are more expensive now. She and Lindsey won't travel to Paris, London, Rome, and Milan on her CSI retirement!" Greg looked puzzled. "High maintenance—both of them. They won't be staying in fourth floor walk-up hotels!" Sara closed the folder. "Let's show Nick what we have."

"Grissom bringing dinner?" Greg asked, gathering up additional photographs.

Sara grinned, slapping his arm with the folder. "Yeah—and there's plenty for you."

Grissom had gotten enough food for a dozen people—sandwiches, salads, soups, fruit, and four kinds of cookies. He met Jim Brass as he was hauling in the bags and boxes of food.

"Hey, old buddy—feeding a small army of two or can anyone join?" Brass jostled to take a couple of bags. "Who are you feeding tonight?"

"Anyone who wants to eat. Sara said they were still working on the bodies found in the rental unit so thought I'd bring enough food for everyone."

The two men made their way to the break room, and finding it empty, put all the food on the table. They knew the smell of fresh food would bring the hungry. Grissom placed several items to one side.

He smiled. "Special order for my wife."

Brass took a seat and a sandwich. "She's fantastic, isn't she? It amazes me how that girl has grown—from a girl to a woman right before my eyes." A grin formed on his face. "When she first arrived—for years—she was such a spitfire. She'd take on King Kong for some poor victim. Don't get me wrong—the fire is still there! She's just calmer, more thoughtful." He chuckled. "Settled into her skin, I think."

Grissom joined him at the table as Brass continued talking about Sara for several minutes. "And now you two are heading to the jungle—she's excited."

"We both are—and it's a rainforest." Grissom chuckled. "We're turning over leaves for three or four months looking for certain caterpillars."

Brass laughed, saying, "I'm glad it's you and not me!" He took a bite of sandwich, watching Grissom as he chewed. "I was in Honduras years ago—didn't like it, but Costa Rica is different—no army."

"You should fly down to visit—I think we've talked my mother into coming and hopefully, Greg will travel with her. It's a beautiful place."

Brass narrowed his eyes, watching Grissom for several minutes as he arranged food in the center of the table. "There's something else bugging you—give it up."

Grissom raked his hand through his hair. "It's not obvious, is it?"

"Only to me, Gil. You got a look around your eyes—shouldn't be there cause you have everything a man could want."

"I do." His grin spread across his face. "A beautiful wife who is a good sport and willing to like bugs because I do! Her mind is wired for research—I can hardly wait to get her back to field work. This grant is something we've worked on for two—nearly three years—and we are excited." He sighed, leaning closer to Brass. "I shouldn't, but I worry about the future, Jim. I—I should have married Sara years ago and I did not."

Brass put his food on the table, an amused tone in his voice as he said, "You want a kid."

"Yeah."

A silent laugh formed as Brass shook his head. "After all this time you want a little tot running around calling you 'Dad'—what brought this on? Better yet—what does your wife say?"

Grissom shrugged. "Getting married, being around Sara, seeing how much she cares, wanting part of her in a child." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She wants one too—and I don't want to leave her alone, Jim. I want her to have someone when I'm gone."

Brass realized what his friend meant. "It doesn't always work like that."

Their eyes met, briefly as a glance of grief and sympathy passed between the two before Grissom looked away.

Brass cleared his throat. "Ellie is in every one of the best moments of my life. I can remember her little hands on my face. Once when she was playing with a bunch of puppies—I'll remember her giggles until I die. Taking her to the beach—I know I would have been a better father if I had been older—paid more attention to enjoying her."

"You never thought about marrying again? Having more kids?"

"No, too much work, never the right woman." He tore a piece of bread and fiddled with it. "You are a lucky man, Gil."

"You don't think I'm nuts?"

"Good, Lord, no." He chuckled. "I'm not surprised. Sara will be a good mother. So—is this baby deal in the making—announcement coming? Or in the planning stages?"

Briefly, a troubled frown crossed Grissom's face. "Planning and hoping. Between the consulting work, our age—for the first year, we thought it would happen by magic, if not in Costa Rica, then Paris—it hasn't happened. We've tried working around the right time of the month and still nothing."

"Sara's okay—no problems?"

"She's fine. Doctor says she has the body of a thirty year old."

Brass raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"And I'm fine. It all works—maybe not like a twenty year old, but everything functions as it should."

"It will happen—Larry King, Michael Douglas, Hugh Hefner—young wife equals kids—maybe two or three!" His finger lifted. "Incoming. I want to be the first to know—be the stand-in gramps!"

Grissom stood as Sara entered the room, greeting him with a hug and brief kiss. "Smells divine!" She said with a laugh. Several others followed her, shaking hands, laughing as Grissom was introduced to three new investigators by Nick and Greg.

"This is the legend," Nick said with a laugh as he slapped a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "Pint of blood your first day. Maggots in the 'frig, chocolate grasshoppers, racing cockroaches!"

Greg added, "Dumpster diving every week for your first year!"

"Don't forget crawling under houses," Sara said. "Oh, I've forgotten—he didn't make everyone do that—only me!"

Nick, Brass and Grissom started laughing. Nick said, "Remember the time Warrick had to pull you out by your ankles?"

"I didn't lose the pipe—and Greg got DNA out of that trap!" She laughed.

Catherine was last to arrive complaining of paperwork and open cases and deadlines. The group passed sandwiches, poured soup into bowls, commented on Grissom's perfect selections and talk turned to the five bodies found in the rental unit.

Eight voices became ten as two others joined them at the table. "Commonalities?" "Not in how they were killed—choked, blunt force, chest wound." "Two males, three females." "Oldest one goes back at least twenty months." "Age?" "All under thirty." "Three identified—lived in Vegas less than a year."

"We need an Amber Alert system for anyone missing under thirty years old," Brass said, helping himself to several cookies. "Everyone is supposed to be so connected—so how do thousands of young people go missing every year and no one notices?"

Catherine asked, "Other than fiberglass in their throats—anything else in common?"

Greg raised his hand. "The abnormal strands of fiberglass indicate exposure to fire but I'm not sure what to make of it."

Grissom had remained quiet until he said: "Probably blown in insulation in an attic—so how does one, in this case five, get exposed to similar fiberglass? And it's been exposed to fire?"

Sara's face brightened. "A fire—one that was put out, but it scattered insulation around?"

"Over a period of two years—they would not have worked cleaning up—maybe they lived in the same place or worked in the same place?" Nick questioned.

"The killer," Grissom said, "the killer brought in the fibers. That's where the fiberglass is coming from."

"Do we know where they lived?" Catherine asked. "We know when they arrived in Vegas from their families. We know where they came from—but we don't have a local address." She turned to one of the new investigators. "You talked to one of the mother's—did she have an idea where her daughter was living?"

The young man scrambled for his notes—a folded paper in his pocket. "A motel—the name is—is Southern Comfort."

Nick said, "Isn't that place out on West Sahara? Changed its name to something like Buffalo Inn?"

Brass nodded. "Few tourists—more of an extended stay kind of place." He frowned. "I'm thinking there was a fire in the place years ago."

Greg left the table and returned with a laptop. "Yep, it was still the Southern Comfort Motel when a fire burned several rooms—five years ago."

Catherine directed the new investigators to call families of the two known victims again. "See if you can get any address, any place they were living. If they had a credit card—ask—no one lives on cash today."

The discussion over a shared meal led to the break in the case. Three days later the maintenance man at the small Buffalo Inn was charged with the murders of five young adults. Crawling into the attic space where his gloves picked up insulation fibers exposed to a localized fire, he could access each room through a ceiling panel.

"Why did you do it?" was the first question asked by Jim Brass.

The man scowled. "Because I could—they were pigs—trashed the rooms, stopped up toilets. Throw-away kids nobody wanted or cared about."

Ten minutes later Brass opened the bottom draw of his desk and emptied the bottle into a short tumbler. Not for the first time he felt old, exhausted, tired of hearing the sordid details of murder.

Further investigation into the lives cut short by murder provided more information; all were identified. Each one had used cash to pay for their room. The maintenance man was a thief who had been stealing money from rooms. He admitted to dropping into one room just as the girl opened the door; she died before she could make a sound. Another was asleep, woke up and recognized the man as he searched for cash. His gloved hand had covered each mouth as he choked one, hit two with a hammer, stabbed one, and cut the throat of another. He wrapped each body in thick plastic and placed it in the storage unit he had rented using a fake name. "It was easy," he said.

_A/N: Sorry, no smut! But its coming-so read, review, and the next chapter will be up very soon! Review, the quicker the sweet smut-you won't be disappointed! LOL!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Here's a new chapter with a bit of sweet smut! Enjoy your day!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 6 **

"Are we ready? Anything I can do?" Grissom asked from his propped position on the bed. He knew suitcases were packed, boxes already shipped, but the last minute frenzy of preparation his wife was involved in caused doubts.

"We are. I'm putting a few more towels in the other bathroom for Nick."

He nodded and went back to reading. He was fairly certain Nick could find towels but said nothing as she disappeared. Nick was moving into their condo while his house was renovated; Hank got to live at home. "Keep the dog happy," Grissom advised, adding "He likes a burger every so often, but don't tell Sara!"

Sara returned and crawled into bed. "Hank is anxious. He knows all this activity means we are leaving him."

Grissom scooted across the bed and wrapped arms around her. "He's going to be fine as soon as he realizes he gets Nick." His hand moved from her lower back upward and curved around her body to find the swell of her breast where it lifted from her ribs. "You are losing weight."

"I've been so busy!" She kissed his nose, his lips, his chin. Her fingers laced through his hair. "Do you think you got this cut short enough?" She laughed as she tried to twirl a lock of very short hair around her finger.

As a response, he made a growling sound against her neck. "I'm growing a beard too—starting tomorrow." He managed to get his chin between her shirt and her chest. "And I'm going to crawl inside this shirt to get what I want." His face was buried inside the stretchy knit of her top.

She giggled, pulling the top over her head, her arms out of the short sleeves, and pushing it over his head. "Now you can wear it as a collar, stud muffin!" She giggled again as he looked up at her, his blue eyes inches from her lips, a smile across his face.

Grissom had been home for six weeks and their desire had not diminished. In fact, their daily togetherness had amplified desire and enhanced pleasure in the other in a way they had almost forgotten. Both knew it was not just physical pleasure but the certainness of the future—a future that stretched for twelve months of living and working together every day. And after that, two options—temporary positions for both at the local university or joining a larger research project working with Earthwatch.

His hand moved along the valley between her breasts and spread across her belly. His little finger brushed the hood of her clit bringing an immediate reaction as a gasp of air filled her lungs. His lips kissed a circle around a nipple before taking it into his mouth. His fingers separated her and gently worked her sensitive bud until dampness covered his hand. He felt her tighten against his fingers as he continued to kindle arousal with delicate strokes.

"Gil," she whispered as he lowered his head. Her muscles tightened; she lifted her butt as his mouth covered her feminine folds. His tongue touched her with the faintest stroke he could make and her reaction was nearly instantaneous. Her hips lifted, her legs opened; his tongue slipped into her opening. He wanted to stop, to savor her response, her aroma, the heat of her body, but she demanded more, thrusting herself against him. He could feel the rhythmic waves of her muscles as she moaned his name which quickly became a series of nonsense sounds and rapid breaths. One of her hands knotted into his hair; the other pressed into his shoulder.

He loved this, he thought. He flicked his tongue rapidly, slid two fingers in and out of her, making a sweeping motion as he did so. Sara had forgotten everything else as her orgasm crashed into her brain.

A short while later, she said, "Will we do this when I'm old?" Sara giggled as she asked her question.

"Yes," Grissom answered. He had changed positions, engaging in the most intimate pose of man. His erection was snugly ensconced within her vagina, tight and swollen from her first orgasm. He was slowly pumping, his hips barely breaking contact with her pelvis as his penis seemed to glide of its own accord.

This was an act they loved, enjoyed, slowly bringing the other to a magical plateau before the rush of passion sent them plunging into orgasm. Kissing brought him deep inside her. Taking her lip between his teeth made her back arch, her muscles contracted; he went deeper. Her hands massaged his back, his butt; long fingers caressed his scrotum. He felt her fingertips at the base of his penis.

"Sara."

"Come with me."

With her words, his movement changed; he plunged, he pumped, he performed an Olympic high-dive into the wet fluids of her sex. Muscles from his back, his groin, his belly worked in synchronization to thrust his own fluids into the natural female receptacle. He was almost unaware of what was happening to his wife except for the intense heat and tightness caused by waves of powerful muscle contractions of Sara's orgasm.

Their bodies were soaked in sweat—and other fluids—when he lifted himself from the sprawling form of his wife. Sheets were tangled around feet, pillows were scattered, lights had been left on, and Sara's pajama top had somehow managed to stay around his neck making a cute coil of pink fabric.

"I can't believe we did that," Sara said, right before she placed a very wet kiss above his ear.

Grissom's face was buried between her shoulder and chin. "I can't move. I think he's broken."

Sara tightened certain muscles, laughing. "He doesn't feel broken."

Snuggling tighter against her body, he said "The next time we do this, we'll be in Costa Rica." He lifted his head and met Sara's lips, giving her a kiss that reverberated through every nerve. "You have no reservations? You don't want to back out?"

"None—definitely no."

They left Las Vegas the next morning flying to Dallas and then San Jose. Betty wanted to drive them to the airport; Nick arrived for a last minute good-bye, and stowed their two suitcases in the back of his vehicle, after convincing everyone he should deliver them to the airport and take Betty to lunch. With Betty happily seated in front, Grissom shot a glance at Sara and nodded. His mother would be well taken care of in their absence by Nick and Greg.

Twelve hours later, a local pilot met their flight and, with a little wrestling with language, they managed to get food and a hotel room for the night. Early the next morning, the same man helped them into a six-seater plane loaded with supplies and took off. Underneath the plane, mile after mile of thick vegetation unrolled. A glimpse of a river glinted between greenery; in places mist lay over valleys as the plane climbed higher and circled around mountains.

Sara's stomach crawled with nausea when the plane lurched as wind currents caught them. This was the second time in as many days she had felt the rise of queasiness, but she passed it off as excitement and turmoil of travel. The runway was a grass strip; the forest rushing to meet them before it opened a space just long enough for the plane to land. Grissom looked back at Sara once the place stopped and both laughed. She had pressed her lips together so tightly during the last twenty minutes of the flight she had almost bitten her lip.

Grissom asked about traveling by road into the area. The pilot laughed, answering in English. "Three to four hours by car from San Jose," he pointed to the boxes behind Sara, "Dr. Finch needed those supplies—you got lucky and arrived on the same plane!"

Within minutes a dozen adults, and as many children, arrived to meet the plane, its passengers and its cargo. Sara was delighted her feet were on solid ground, and equally thrilled to meet two of the researchers she had worked with in the past. As they trekked toward a group of buildings, everyone hauling a box, one of the women pointed to one of the houses in the distance.

"You'll live there, Sara! It's the best one—it's ready for you, we put in a few supplies, and your boxes are already there. Anything you need or doesn't work, just let Paulina know. She's our resident housekeeper, handy-woman, supplier of necessities! We'll head to town tomorrow to get whatever else you need."

Separating from the group, Sara waved as she headed to the cottage; Grissom was absorbed in conversation with two others when she reached for his bag.

"I want to check out our living space," she said.

"Oh—so do I!" Laughing as he turned away from the group, he asked, "Have our boxes arrived?"

Six people answered in some manner with "Yes."

The cottage was wrapped with a screened porch, elevated several feet above the ground, situated to receive morning sun and afternoon shade. Hammocks hung from posts on the porch, several chairs and a table filled a front corner. Wide double doors were spaced at regular intervals along three walls, meant to be opened for the breeze. Grissom pulled the center doors open. Surprise caught both—Sara had not seen the other cottages but was sure the women had correctly identified this one as the best.

"Gil, it's beautiful!"

His hand found hers. "It's quite suitable." He grinned, dropped his bag and lifted her from the porch as he stepped inside. "I don't think I ever carried you over the threshold, Mrs. Grissom!"

"Wow!" Both seemed to breathe the word as they took in the lofted ceiling with a high row of windows shaded by the overhanging roof yet the room was bright, breezy even with closed doors.

A large open area served as combination living and dining room, furnished with solidly built wooden furniture and chairs and sofa covered with slipcovers. The kitchen was in the center of the house, simply and adequately furnished, and behind it they found a small, clean bathroom. Bedrooms were located on either side of the kitchen. The first was set up as a master bedroom with a large bed, mosquito netting hanging from four posts, a desk and storage cabinets, and a fan hanging from the ceiling. Grissom opened two doors onto the porch and turned on the fan and within minutes, a breeze cooled the room.

Wordlessly, they explored the house—both smiling as they discovered a very clean, very appropriate house.

Grissom opened more doors and the house filled with fresh air and quiet sounds of the birds in mid-morning. They found a functioning clothes washer on the back porch with clothes lines hung near the ceiling to use for drying.

The second bedroom contained their boxes and two beds separated by a low cabinet. The same type doors opened to the porch.

"Betty can stay here when she comes," Sara said as they stood in the doorway. She grinned when Grissom gave her his quizzical raising of his eyebrow. "She can—you don't want her to be in a bunk room and sharing a bathroom with males and females!"

Grissom agreed and began counting boxes, moved several to one of the beds, and turned to Sara.

"This is perfect…" He stopped when he saw what else was in the room. Sara was standing beside it. He looked at her and grinned. "Is someone trying to tell us something?"

She shook her head. Her lips pressed together as she struggled not to laugh. "Is it what I think it is?"

_A/N: Costa Rica-we did not get enough from CSI! So we'll write about their second trip! And a few old friends will show up soon! Thanks for reading, thank you for reviewing!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Some of you guessed what they found-and this is an actual description of it and how it is used!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 7**

Neither had ever seen a baby's bed like this one. They examined the small bed on wheels, obviously built for an infant to be moved around; two wheels on one end, a curved handle on the other.

"Sort of pram and wheelbarrow combined," Grissom said.

Sara snickered. "I did not know you knew the word."

He rolled the bed from its corner. "This lifts up." He lifted a long pole upright until it clicked. "It's for mosquito netting. Someone had a baby—it's not new." He chuckled and patted the mattress with his hands. "It swings! Maybe we'll use it."

Sara shrugged. "We haven't given up, have we?" She ran her hand over the smooth wood. "You didn't tell anyone—no one knows—that we are trying?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure it's stored here because no one needs it now." He turned her around and led her out of the room. "Maybe it's an omen—predicting what we'll need before we leave." He sensed a slight change, a shrinking of enthusiasm, as they went into the kitchen. He leaned over and kissed her. "I love you, Sara." He kissed her again and she smiled. "Let's see if we have some food in here—Dr. Finch said they had supplied us for a few days." He opened the refrigerator—less than half the size of the one they had left in Vegas. He brought Sara's hand to his lips. "You okay?"

"Yeah—I'm fine." She made a soft laugh. "No, I'm not fine—my stomach has been queasy since last night. Is there any yogurt in there?"

He found fruit, bottles of water, cooking oil, a container of cooked beans, cheese, and two cartons of yogurt. "Strawberry—I think that's a strawberry—something red, and plain."

"Plain."

"You sure it's just a queasy stomach?"

"Yeah—I think this will help. All the excitement of traveling."

Grissom pulled a stool out and motioned for her to sit. "You eat—then rest. I know you didn't sleep much last night. I'll go see Dr. Finch and the others—see what we do next." He made a satisfied sigh and patted her leg. "You are okay—you haven't been sick?"

"No, just queasy—flying, those mountains in that small plane didn't help. I thought we were going to land in the tree tops." She ate a spoonful of yogurt.

Grissom laughed; Sara had never enjoyed a rollercoaster ride like he did and the flight had affected her in a similar way. He said, "If you are okay, I'm going over to the main building. Rest—don't unpack."

She nodded, succeeding in plastering a smile on her face. The yogurt almost made her gag—not a good sign, she thought, as Grissom headed outside. She took another spoonful and tried to swallow but the effort increased the feeling of nausea that threatened to erupt into full scale vomiting. She put the yogurt back in the refrigerator and took a water bottle into the bedroom. As she slipped her shoes off, she drank water; maybe she was dehydrated, she thought. Someone—probably the multi-tasking Paulina—had covered the bed with heavy cotton sheets. Cool, she thought, and soft and smelled of outside. She stretched across the bed. Her stomach rolled and she felt the burn of acid in the back of her throat. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, clapped a hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom where she lost everything—watered down yogurt, eggs, beans and rice from breakfast—as she retched.

Sara grabbed a towel before she slipped to the floor; the tile was cool, she thought. The side of the tub was cool—she leaned her head against it—she could rest for just a few minutes before getting back to bed.

Grissom found her almost an hour later when he returned with two of the women who were bringing more food.

"Sara!" His shout woke her from her vomiting-dry heaving unconsciousness; her shirt was soaked with sweat and water where she had attempted to clean up.

Recognizing the need for something other than the food they had brought, one of the women left while the other helped Sara remove her shirt and washed her face.

"I think I'll be fine—my stomach just revolted," Sara said as she accepted the help of the older woman as Grissom searched for cleaned clothes.

The woman's hands pulled Sara's hair back, calling to Grissom, "Got a hair band in her things, Dr. Grissom?" She gently held Sara's hair in a ponytail. "This happens to all of us. Nora went to get you some guava—it works for vomiting and diarrhea."

Sara nodded, resting her face in her hands.

"I'm Rose Finch," the woman introduced herself. "Hal's better half. We think we know you from Nora and Dan—they have been talking about you two for weeks!"

Sara managed a laugh. "I'm usually in better shape when I meet someone—sorry."

Rose smiled, "Forget it—happens to everyone."

Grissom returned to the small bathroom with a clean shirt; he had found a band for a ponytail and pulled Sara's hair back. "Sorry, forgot to make introductions." He took Sara's hand. "I'm sorry, honey." He rinsed a wash cloth and placed it around her neck. "Let's get you to bed." He slipped an arm around her and helped walk her to the bed.

She managed to remove her pants while Grissom folded the sheet back and Rose lined a trash can and placed it beside the bed. The effort of it all exhausted Sara and she sank between the sheets mumbling her thanks.

The two sat on either side of Sara and talked quietly about the area, ongoing research projects, the nearest town. As she listened, Sara knew she was going to like Rose—a woman with a serious mind edged with humor—with her comment about their research trying to save a tiny bit of the environment for a few more years.

Nora returned with a large bottle of juice. "This stuff has been used for decades to treat what ails you," she said as she poured a small glass for Sara. "Drink up and tomorrow you'll be your normal workaholic self!" Nora and her husband Dan had played a role in encouraging Sara to marry Grissom when he arrived in Costa Rica and had been major supporters of their grant application.

"A man doesn't quit his job and travel all this distance tracking down the woman he loves unless he means to make the relationship permanent! Marry the man, Sara," had been Nora's advice.

Gratefully, Sara drank the juice, which had the consistency of a thick nectar, and sank back into bed, saying "Thanks." Her body ached, her head ached and her eyes had to fight sleep until she heard Grissom ask about the rolling crib in the other room.

Rose laughed. "It's been around for years—I used it years ago with my second baby! And the family who left last month had three children—the youngest one slept in it."

Opening her eyes, Sara asked, "Why does it roll? Why the big wheels?"

"Oh, that's so it can be taken to the research site!" Nora explained. "It's actually made to use in fields—mothers could roll their babies with them as they worked, keep them shaded, covered with netting."

Sara dosed, hearing fragments of conversation as they talked about the others at the research center, explaining who everyone was, who stayed year-round, the number of volunteers. She heard a promise to return the next morning to check on her.

Rose's cool hand touched her face as she said, "And we'll go into town when you feel better. Nothing hurries around here and at mid-day everyone rests."

The rest of the day, Sara slept while Grissom unpacked. Once she woke up and drank more juice; her stomach was calm. "I'm better—just tired."

"Sleep, honey. It's almost nightfall and I'm working on unpacking boxes."

In the night, she woke again to complete darkness. Grissom was sleeping next to her, his arm across her belly. She could hear insects hitting the screens on the porch and the night birds chirping in the tall trees. Intently, she listened for the hoots and whistles of little night monkeys; in a few minutes she was able to distinguish their noise from other nightlife.

She had not moved, but somehow Grissom woke. "How do you feel?" He asked.

"Much better," She sighed. "I'm embarrassed to cause so much trouble—first meeting of the head researcher's wife and I'm on the floor puking my guts."

"It didn't bother her—I think she sees a lot of this with all the volunteers coming in." His hand spread across her abdomen. "Sara—could you be pregnant?"

She whispered, "I don't think so—it's possible—but I don't think I am."

"How late?"

"Just a few days—getting ready, excitement, the system gets thrown off—it could be anything."

His hand patted her belly. "I hope you are," he said.

"It's not very convenient, is it?"

She felt the rumble of his laugh before she heard it. "Babies are born everywhere, dear. And we've already got a bed. What else do we need?"

She wanted to will it so—make her body do this thing so easily done by millions. And she had no excuses; she ovulated, her hormone levels were normal, everything worked as it should, but every month the bright red signal came that announced she would not bear a child. She reached to touch Grissom's face, her hand finding his cheek in complete darkness.

"I want it to be, Gil, but I can't—I find it very difficult to talk about…"

His lips touched her palm with feather-weight kisses. "I know, honey, I know. We'll wait and see. We'll be fine—can you sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Sara?"

"Yeah."

"We'll give ourselves another year—see what happens. And then we'll find us a baby—there are thousands of kids who need a family."

Sara rolled into his arms. "I know, Gil." Her hand found his hair; her thumb gently traced along his eyebrow. "I dream of a baby who looks like you—I actually feel a baby's breath on my face, and then I wake up."

"You will, honey—you'll feel that breath one day." He made a soft chuckle. "But our baby could have brown eyes, you know."

_A/N: Read + review = next chapter! (Don't be lazy, take 2 seconds and send a comment!) Thanks. _


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**_: Thanks for reading-promising more smut in another chapter, so enjoy this one as it moves our story along!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 8**

The next morning, as if a miracle had occurred in the night, Sara was fine. She drank the rest of the guava and heated water for tea before Grissom was out of the shower. She was breaking eggs into a pan when he appeared.

"Better, I see." He said, kissing her as she made tea.

"I am—must have been something I ate—or traveling. You don't know how close I came to losing it in that little plane. From now on, I think I'll make the trip by land!"

He laughed. "It was a roller coaster ride."

They spent the morning with Dan and Nora—touring the buildings, meeting everyone working in the center, and seeing the area they would use for their research. The facility maintained half a dozen houses, a small apartment building for short-term researchers, and a dormitory-style building for volunteers. Grissom asked about visitors—always welcomed, especially if they work as a volunteer, Nora said with a laugh.

After the tour and introductions, they walked through the forest for twenty minutes before arriving at a two acre site already surveyed for Grissom's research. They crossed several small streams bordered by ferns and mosses with water so clear every stone and tiny fish leaped into sight. Tall trees appeared to make a ceiling, or canopy, of green overlapping plates. The ground was damp underfoot and roots twisted in and out of the soil; brightly colored flowers bloomed in small knots and crannies. The myriad creatures, winged, walking, and crawling, paid little attention to the passing humans. Within minutes, they found several caterpillars underneath leaves and Grissom identified one as the species he was going to collect, noting the type of plant.

Dan said, "Most of the time volunteers collect leaves for feeding the insects—but occasionally we are out here and our kids are our volunteers!"

The two men were so engrossed in conversation, they missed a hummingbird whose plumage was so iridescent blue it almost hurt to look at it. Sara held her breath as it flew so near her face she could feel the slight breeze of air created by its wings. Nora took photographs of Sara's amazed face.

"We'll upload these tonight and you can send them to your friends! They will line up to volunteer once they see this!"

The forest teemed with noise that seemed to ignore the human visitors. Heat wrapped them in a second skin as they worked through thick plant life, found more caterpillars, watched birds and butterflies. Sweat beaded her forehead as Sara realized she was beginning to feel a nauseous weakness return when Nora took her arm and turned back.

Placing a water bottle to Sara's mouth, Nora called, "We've seen enough today." In minutes, the four were walking together, Grissom practically dancing with excitement, unaffected by heat, humidity, and sweat soaking his shirt.

Dan advised, "Rest this afternoon. Drink plenty. The heat will get to you if you don't take time to adjust. You saw how many caterpillars are out here—you'll have all you need to study! And your biggest problem will be collecting only one kind—the first morpho you find, you'll want to keep!"

They talked of moths, butterflies, feeding methods, and collection techniques; Sara tried to participate while willing her stomach to settle but she could not hide her shiver and stumbled. Grissom caught her arm.

"You are not okay," he said as he put his arm around her. Her body was suddenly unpleasantly cold, clammy even in the heat.

Dan pulled out his bottle of water. "Here," he poured water into his hand and wiped the back of her neck, saying "It may be the heat."

"It will pass," Sara insisted and took two steps before vomiting.

Several minutes passed before her stomach emptied and they could move on. Both men dampened large handkerchiefs so she could use one to wipe her face and wrap the other around her neck.

"I thought it had passed—I felt fine this morning." She had to grip Grissom's arm as dizziness swept over her; his arms went around her until she righted herself. "I'll be okay—I never have liked vomiting."

Grissom checked his watch. "It's been almost twenty-four hours since this started," he said, his face a roadmap of worry.

Nora asked several questions—diarrhea—headache—other pain? And with answers of "no", she urged Dan to walk ahead. "We'll take our time. Dan, take more guava juice to their house—some of the jelly is in the cabinet—that might help. We have plenty of ice—take a bag to their house and we'll meet you there."

Sara tried to apologize. "I usually have a very strong stomach," she said.

Nora patted her back. "We're going into town after you rest. This could be the normal 'revenge' of different food or bad water—do you want Grissom to go with us, or just a ladies trip?"

When Sara's eyes met Nora's, she could read her thoughts. "I—I'm only a few days late."

"Doesn't matter, honey. Sometimes it shows up immediately and leaves just as quickly and sometimes it lasts for weeks—months even." Nora's arm went around Sara. "Costa Rica has pretty good prenatal care system—it's all free, too. I've had two babies in San Jose and the last one in the local hospital—just didn't want to go to San Jose."

"I don't feel pregnant," Sara whispered. "Am I supposed to feel—different?"

Nora laughed. "Sara, I've had three—every time was different. How long?"

Sara looked confused.

"How long have you been trying?"

"Oh! Since Gil came here the first time—I wasn't on birth control and when we got together—well, we thought it would happen." Her laugh was more cynical than happy. "I've been checked, Gil was checked—everything works, just no baby. And—we get a grant for a year of research and—and now I'm late and I'm sick at noon. Sorry—I tend to over talk." She sounded as miserable as she felt. The back of her hand swiped across her eyes.

Nora's soft laugh was one of sincere encouragement. "Sara, you will be fine. Pregnancy—if that's what this is—is natural for most of us. Half the researchers here have had babies and the other half are fathers. We'll go into town—I can pick up my kids at school and you can buy a pregnancy test. If you feel like it, we'll walk through the market—absolutely fabulous early in the morning, but lots of fun anytime."

Grissom's excitement had turned to anxious concern; his eyes could not leave his wife's pale face.

Somehow, the three made it to the house; twice Sara had to stop to vomit. Grissom and Nora urged her to drink to prevent dry heaving.

"At least water doesn't taste bad as it comes up," Sara said with a cheerless laugh.

Surprising to Sara and Grissom, guava jelly spread on a cracker seemed to calm her stomach—as long as she kept her head on a pillow. She heard Nora and Dan quietly talking with Grissom as she closed her eyes.

Sleeping in the middle of the day had been the "norm" for so long for Sara that she found it easy to nap—Grissom joined her without eating lunch.

"You didn't eat," she said without opening her eyes.

He chuckled, "I ate guava jelly on a tortilla—pretty good stuff. Be better with peanut butter." He slipped out of his shirt, removed his socks and pants, and pulled the netting around the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Weird."

"Honey—whatever this is, we'll be fine. I want you to feel better." He rolled and placed an arm across her belly. "Can I do anything?"

"I think you've already done it," she laughed. "No, if I don't move, the nausea goes away. Nora and I are going to town later—I'll get a home pregnancy test."

"I know you are—I can tell." He sounded extremely satisfied about something.

Sara rolled her eyes. "No, you can't!"

He stretched out on his stomach and moved near her but kept several inches between their bodies. One arm remained across her belly; the other supported his head. "No, I can't tell—but you probably are. Your doctor told us to stop obsessing about having a baby, and I think we did—when we got the grant. Your last period was a week after I got home and now five weeks later—your period is late." His fingers played with the fabric of her shirt. "And you are never late—I could use you as a calendar!"

Her eyes had closed as he talked and moisture glistened along her dark lashes. Grissom leaned over and kissed her as a tear began to make its track. He asked, "What causes this?"

She did not open her eyes, but spoke: "I may not be, Gil. It may be I'm late—I don't want to get our hopes up. And if I am—this is not exactly perfect timing, is it?"

"Hey," he kissed her again. "There is always time for a baby—especially at our age—my age! I should apologize for waiting so long to marry you—we could have a house full of kids now if I had married you years ago!"

Rolling to face him, their bodies touching, her hand went to his face. "I love you, Gil Grissom." Her thumb stroked his cheek and circled his eye. "I am excited to be here—I love being here with you—I'm just puking every twenty-four hours!"

With an affection laugh, he pulled her into both arms. "Can you sleep like this?"

Her head nestled against his shoulder, "Yeah," she whispered.

A/N: _Review! Thanks so much-we do love hearing from readers. And the more reviews, the quicker the next chapter comes and perhaps-we will know what's making Sara sick!_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**_ ENJOY!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 9**

_Early morning, Las Vegas:_

"This look good," Nick said as he unwrapped the sandwich handed to him by Greg Sanders. They were finally taking a break after hours of working in a burned out house where three bodies had been found. Sitting outside was the first time they had breathed fresh air in hours.

"You got a pickle, too."

Nick laughed, "Do you remember the time Grissom lit up a pickle?" He held up a long dill pickle and bit the end. "I knew then I was an investigator, not a real scientist!"

"That's an old trick—was it crime related?"

Nick shook his head. "I don't remember. I do remember thinking 'why would someone put an electrical wire in a pickle?' And knew I wasn't a real scientist—even today I think of myself as an investigator, no matter how much of that equipment I use." He laughed again, watching Greg eat his sandwich.

"You know, Catherine is going to retire."

Greg stopped eating, saying "She's said that for months now. Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, she showed me her letter. And she wants Ecklie to name me as supervisor."

"That's good." Greg grinned. "I can work for you."

Nick frowned. "I don't want that job, Greg. I like working crime scenes—I don't like paperwork, I don't like politics. I've never worked as a lab tech." He played with his sandwich. "I want to do what I'm doing now. I'm going to ask her to recommend you, not me."

Greg's face changed to a look of astonishment; his mouth dropped open. He almost dropped his sandwich. "You can't be serious, man. I'm no supervisor."

"You can be—you've worked in the field so you know what we do. You worked in the lab—everyone there looks up to you. You are smart—a scientist, an investigator." Nick shrugged and laughed. "And put a suit on you and you'd make a great politician!"

"Nick—I don't want this! I like what I do!"

"Would you rather have some stranger—or someone else on another shift to be our supervisor? I don't—you are smart, Greg. You can be my supervisor until I retire—I'd be happy about that." When Nick began eating his sandwich, Greg finished his.

An easy silence settled between the two men for several minutes. Finally, Greg said, "You really think she's retiring?"

"Yep. She's got a timeline. After you take vacation time to go to Costa Rica, she's leaving."

Greg shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe she would really leave us. I can't believe you won't take the supervisor's position. I can't believe you want me to do Grissom's job!" His entire body shook with restless energy. "And what makes you think Ecklie will do what Catherine asks?"

Nick laughed. "Catherine knows where a lot of skeletons are buried—Ecklie's included. And," He laughed so hard he snorted before finishing his sentence, "I can see you with that fetal pig on your desk just like Grissom! You would be putting old blood in the refrigerator your first week!"

Greg chuckled. "No—not old blood—Sara had a fit about that, remember?"

Again, they ate in silence until Nick said, "You'll be a good supervisor, Greg. Better than anyone else. Maybe even Grissom." Both grinned.

Shaking his head, skeptical of Nick's plan, Greg bit into his pickle.

_Costa Rica:_

The nearest town, nearly fifteen miles from the research center, was much larger than Sara had imagined it to be. Two tall bell towers dominated the skyline—one new and one very old—and their dazzling white contrasted to the many bright colored buildings and houses they passed. Small houses gradually became larger buildings, a number of them new and multi-stored, yet everywhere trees grew and flowers bloomed in a profusion of color that made Sara's eye squint. Every home and business seemed to be decorated by blooming vines, pots of flowers, trees heavy with local fruit. Their destination was its center, the oldest section of town, where the daily open-air market was set up.

Their first stop was a modern drug store—unlike those in Las Vegas, this store sold medications and medical supplies—no food, no toiletries, no shampoo or diapers. The sole purchase was handled quickly and wrapped in plain white paper before the woman at the counter handed it to Sara.

"There is a nice free clinic here for pregnant women," Nora said as she handed Sara a pamphlet from a rack. "If you need it—here take this."

"We have insurance," Sara said. She opened the brochure to find photographs and servings of healthy foods for pregnant women.

Nora laughed, "Basic care is free—national health care for everyone! But, you can use your insurance for a specialist in San Jose and the hospital—entirely different world from what your average pregnant woman gets!" Nora tucked the package inside the truck. "We have an hour for a fast trip through the market before the kids are out of school."

Sara remembered other markets from her previous visit—massive open-air stalls and tables held every type of food sold in Costa Rica—tomatoes, beans, peppers, squash, cabbages, plantains, papayas, pineapples, bananas and melons. Today, she had to stop herself from buying too much with Nora promising a return trip in a few days.

After the quick shopping trip and a few minutes of waiting for the closing bell of school, they were driving back to the research center with four giggling, talkative children in the rear seat. All of them had met the airplane, knew Sara was a new arrival who had no children, and greeted her as a familiar adult—asking questions one minute and ignoring her as a new thought started a new conversation. She was able to identify Nora's two children; the oldest daughter attended high school in San Jose. The two other, a boy and a girl, belonged to researchers she had met earlier in the day. Their light, young voices filled the interior of the vehicle on the return trip, telling of events of their day. Nora pulled to a stop in front of Sara's house where Grissom stood waiting.

Nora touched her arm, "Let me know if you need anything—but we won't bother you or ask too many questions," she laughed. "But don't wait to tell us!"

Sara nodded. One of the boys helped her with the bags of food and laughed at Grissom's remark of "You found us a boy—we'll get a girl on the next trip!"

A while later, Grissom held up the white paper wrapped package. "Is this it? When do we know?"

"Not until morning, dear. Concentrated urine works best." Sara had peeled a papaya and was cutting it into bite size pieces. "Gil, I feel so—so guilty, I guess—something. After all this time, we get this awesome grant, everything we've wanted—and I may have a baby right in the middle of everything!" Her voice wavered slightly; she stabbed a piece of papaya and held it up. "High in folic acid—good for pregnant women." Her voice trembled again and she let the knife slide from her hand as tears formed in her eyes.

Immediately, Grissom's hand folded around hers; his arm circled her back and turned her to face him. "Sara, dear wife, this is not a disaster, this is not a bad thing—its success, a double header with Sosa and H-Rod playing McGwire!" He kissed her. "I wish I could make this sickness go away—and it will." He picked up a piece of papaya and held it before her mouth. "Smile for me—this is absolutely the greatest thing we've done."

"What if I'm not?" She took the fruit into her mouth as she attempted to smile.

He kissed her, tasting the sweetness on her lips. "Then we keep trying—for a year. Then we'll buy one of those kids riding in the truck!" He teased. He gave her another piece of fruit. "You need to eat—especially if you keep throwing up breakfast. There's ripe bananas and a blender—what about a smoothie?" His thumb wiped away tears.

She sniffed. "I don't know why I—I'm so teary eyed."

Grissom took her into his arms, held her for several minutes before walking her to one of the chairs on the porch. "Stay here," he instructed. "I'll be back with something good for you." Returning to the kitchen, he could not keep a smile from forming on his face; he knew why she was emotional. He grinned and did a little dancing shuffle as he cut up papaya, a banana, and a melon for a smoothie.

Before going to bed, Sara uploaded three photographs and sent them to Grissom's mother and Greg. One was a close image of a blue hummingbird flying in front of her face, an amazed grin on her face. The other two were of the house and research facility with a short message: "Pack light and come down!"

Sara was certain she slept only a few hours during the night and at first light, she got up. Two minutes later, Grissom was out of bed and following her into the bathroom.

"I can't pee if you watch," she threatened.

His gleeful giggle sounded like a kid's laugh as he sat on the side of the tub, took the box from her hand and opened it, handing the plastic stick to her. "You can if I make you laugh, now get on with this!" He turned the box over and began to read directions, in Spanish, stumbling over several words as he did.

In less than a minute, the stick was on the sink. Sara said, "I can't look," as her hands covered her face.

They remained quiet for another minute, both seated, facing each other; Sara kept her fingers over her eyes. The bathroom was so small, Grissom did not have to move to see the rapidly changing line of color.

"Is it supposed to change this fast?" He asked as he picked up the directions. "Look." His voice was quiet, serene; his hand touched Sara's knee as he held his breath.

Sara, still seated on the toilet, looked at her husband first and saw the beginning of a smile forming. She looked at the small window on the testing stick; her eyes grew large when she saw the results.

"Oh! That was fast."

The two sat facing each other, too stunned to move, not realizing the comical picture they presented—heads almost touching, his knee touching thigh, both with hands touching the sink as they looked at the test results—seemingly frozen in the warm air of the bathroom.

"Yeah."

Sara's finger ran along Grissom's thumb. "Do you think it could be wrong?"

Grissom grunted, "If it is, it was fast." His eyes met hers. His grin spread across his face. "I think it's probably safe to say we are having a baby, dear."

_A/N: Now you know! And the rest of this story is even more fluff-warning to diabetics-get out your insuling! Thanks!_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**_Another chapter! Enjoy! Thanks so much for your comments!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 10**

"Having a baby…" Sara's voice faded.

A fleeting trace of amusement hovered at the edge of Grissom's mouth.

Still seated, Grissom leaned to her and kissed her forehead. "I think we're having a baby, Sara!" He stood, pulling her with him. He kissed her again, deepening it as he slipped arms around her. His hands moved along the curve of her spine.

Sara pressed her face against his neck; her body softened as her shoulders quivered and she began to make soft, muffled sounds.

Grissom, confused as usual by female emotions, pulled her closer. "Don't cry—we're happy!"

The muffled sounds continued as her entire body shook; slowly, he realized she was giggling, stifling the sound with her mouth pressed against his shirt. He put his thumb beneath her chin and raised her head. Laughter danced in her eyes.

"We're having a baby, Gil! Us! I had almost given up—honestly! I thought it was me—I thought after all this time—I could not do this one thing!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him—hard, with as much enthusiasm as one could while standing in a warm bathroom half-naked, panties still circling her ankles. Her feet tap-danced in a bouncing giddiness. Her hands raked through Grissom's hair as she pulled his face to hers. "A baby of our own! We did it!" Her face metamorphosed from delightful laughter to one of surprise which quickly turned into desire as her eyes sparkled with a golden light that sent a warm flame throughout her body.

Suddenly, a need swept both like a tidal wave rolling into a bay. Lips brushed, mumbling incomprehensible words, hands and fingers pressed against bare skin. Grissom closed his eyes against the deep passion that welled within him, almost dizzy with the emotion that pounded through him. Reverently, he brushed his thumb across her nipple.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered in a soft, husky voice.

Ten steps would have gotten them in bed yet the unexpected fury of passion kept them pressed against the bathroom sink. Sara's thumbs pushed his soft boxers downward as her fingers glided along his thighs. His hands greedily sought her breasts. He kissed her cheek, her eyes, her nose, her throat. He lifted one foot between her bare legs and slid his knee upward. Sara moaned when she found herself astride his upper thigh; passion radiated from both.

He felt her heat and dampness against his skin. He tried to say something, "Let's move," but the words came into his mind and left just as quickly when her hands splayed across his back and pressed them closer. His erection threatened to bruise her belly as his words became unintelligible groans; he recognized a sense of success and joy bounded by gratitude—she was as delighted as he was as her body curved into his.

A part of him wanted to slow what they were doing, but their headlong rush of desire combined for an unstoppable force. He slid his hands beneath her bare bottom and eased her onto the edge of the sink. Something fell to the floor; both ignored it.

"Gil," Sara whispered against his ear, her voice gentle and tender yet urgent with want.

He grasped her legs and pulled them around his waist, saying "Hold on, honey." He guided himself to her. He felt the grip of her fingers on his back; her breath rolled against the curve of his neck.

"I want you," her voice throbbed with need.

Gently, he stroked her, finding the small bud straining, pulsing against the pad of his thumb; her entire body quivered in response. His erection found the entrance to her moist center; whatever willpower he had was gone the moment he felt the clinging grasp of her desire. He cradled her butt and plunged forward.

The gasp in his ear was one of pleasure.

Adjusting both their bodies, he began to move, aware of a sensation of intense pleasure, a tightness that surrounded his body as she held him. Again, he reached between them, found the budding nub of feminine sex and gently stroked it until undisguised desire caused a soft moan; lifting her head from his shoulder, her face glowed with anticipation.

He felt the growing ripple of muscles as she twisted against him; he pushed deeper into her knowing consciousness could not continue. Simultaneously, each heard the sound of their name whispered in passion as a series of deep, convulsive shudders ripped and broke through their bodies. Grissom felt he was holding molten gold as she trembled around him, spasms kneading his erection until he released himself into her warm, welcoming body.

Sara floated gently out of a passionate whirlpool and found herself sitting on the edge of the bathroom countertop. She opened her eyes; Grissom remained between her legs as he watched her with softly smoldering eyes.

"That was amazing," she whispered, smiling as she added "and quite surprising."

She felt him relax his grip on her; he smiled and kissed her. "Yes, it was." Their lips met again in a long, passionate kiss; Sara wrapped legs around his hips and brought him snuggly between her thighs.

Consciousness and reality returned quickly when they heard a loud knocking on wood, the door on the porch rattled with each knock, a female voice calling "Dr. Grissom, Mrs. Grissom!"

"Oh, shit!" Sara whispered. "I forgot—Paulina comes this morning!"

Grissom released her and pulled his boxers up; a pleased grin plastered across his face. "Shower, dear. I'll let her in." He pulled his shirt together and smoothed its front. He turned when he got to the door. "Why is she here?"

The unseen woman called Sara's name again, rapping on the door again.

"She comes to clean and swap out sheets and towels! Tell her you are coming!" Sara whispered as she turned on water. "And bring me some clothes!"

Grissom shouted, "Coming—good morning! Hola! Buenos dias!" and trotted to the front door completely unconcerned with his state of dress.

Sara stepped into the shower, shaking her head as she laughed. Would she ever get enough of him, she questioned. And now they were having a baby—she stood in amazement at the real possibility of a child. Her hand moved, almost unconsciously, to her lower belly, and suddenly she wanted to cry at this miracle they had made. She sniffed—her emotions were on a rollercoaster and now she knew why. Instead of crying, she smiled.

Meanwhile, Grissom was having a conversation with the multi-talented Paulina who had been introduced as the chief housekeeper, supplier of necessities, fixer-upper of most things broken. She had arrived with a small wagon of household supplies and greeted Grissom as a well-known friend. Once a week, she would clean the house, replenish towels, change bed sheets, and today she was scheduled to work in their house, she explained in English. She had a list of chores she would do, explaining to Grissom that she would happily add to her list as her time allowed.

"I do not cook," she stated in accented English. "A cook can be hired if you want one."

She had also brought several items for Sara she said as she opened the bag she carried. "We have these for resting in the forest." She unrolled what looked like a bundle of strings. "Tie it between two trees—see!"

Grissom nodded, "A hammock!"

"Yes, si—for her to rest when she is sick."

Paulina's serious concern caused Grissom to smile. Grinning, he said, "She's having a baby—now we know why she's been sick!"

Delight lit up the woman's face. "A baby!" Raising her arms over her head, she said, "Miss Rose said how sick Mrs. Grissom has been since she arrived—but did not tell me this! Will you be here for delivery? A baby! Everyone will be so happy!"

Suddenly, he remembered Sara in the shower. He held up one finger. "Just one minute—Sara's in the shower." He hurried into the bedroom, gathered up clothing, and stuck his head in the bathroom. "Honey—here are clothes. Paulina has come to clean today. What should I tell her?"

Sara's face appeared from behind the shower curtain. "Towel?" He passed one to her. "I'll be out in a second." She wrapped the towel around her body. "Gil, let's not tell anyone yet—about the baby. Nora will know but I don't think she'll tell anyone—not yet." She saw his face and knew. "You told the housekeeper."

Guilt, a look of sudden awareness of what he had done crossed his face. "I did," he admitted.

Sara pressed her lips together in an attempt not to laugh. He looked like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Gil, it's too early—a lot can happen!" She took her clothes and pulled him into the bathroom.

"I—I'm sorry," his sheepish expression caused her to struggle to suppress laughter. "I wasn't thinking—I—I—I'm excited!" To prove his point he reached arms around her, squeezing her to his chest as he lifted her from the floor. "We're having a baby, Sara!"

Managing to keep her somber expression, Sara pushed him away, saying "Betty will never forgive you for telling the housekeeper before she knows."

His eyebrows lifted; his eyes opened wide. His finger went to his lip. "I'll text her—now."

Taking his hand in hers and wrapping the other one around his neck, she said, "Gil, we should wait—let me see a doctor first." The expression he made finally caused her to laugh. "You can tell Nora and Dan and Rose, but I don't want to disappoint Betty before we know for sure—okay?"

"Nothing's going to happen!" He kissed her nose.

She kept her hand around his neck. "Promise me, Gil. Only the people here who need to know—Nora and Rose can help me with an appointment. In a month, Greg and Betty will be here—let's wait to tell her in person."

He agreed, but within an hour he had slipped out of the house and announced the news to everyone in the research building. Sara suspected he had posted a sign in the break room, but she did not ask. Before she had filled their day-packs with water, guava juice and fresh tortillas made by Paulina, he was back and had moved the rolling crib into the center of the room.

Paulina's response to an expected baby was as joyous as that of a long-time friend. "A baby is always good news, yes! And a first baby brings much joy to everyone!" Sara and Grissom would hear similar statements from Costa Ricans for months to come.

Grissom was inspecting the wheeled cradle with an intensity usually reserved for insects. "This is well made, very sturdy," he said as he stuck his head underneath.

"We will get new bedding, yes," Paulina continued, "and much…" she struggled as she searched for a word while waving her arms over the crib, "a beautiful fairy tale canopy draping to the floor like in the pictures! Costa Rica has beautiful fabrics and seamstresses love to sew for babies!" She lapsed into Spanish, switched back to English as she described bed decorations she had seen.

Sara's mouth dropped open as she listened to the excited monologue from Paulina; she knew Grissom had no comprehension of what Paulina was saying. Sara did and she knew her baby would never have a draping fancy fairytale fantasy canopy; one made from mosquito netting would be perfect for a little Gilbert.

_A/N: Thank you for reading-Happy Mother's Day to all mothers! _


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Enjoy!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 11**

Over several days, they set up a temporary work station that included hanging the hammock between two trees. They marked a grid with small flags, labeled envelopes for caterpillars, leaves, and droppings or frass. They would observe the captured caterpillars, feed them and compare their frass to what they found in the forest. While the adult identification of this particular caterpillar had not been established—Grissom was certain it was one of the hundreds of butterflies—it would be become one on a list of several hundred; the new interest in caterpillars' unique ability to fertilize was the foundation of their grant. It's all about poop, Grissom liked to say.

"It's amazing how similar this is to working a crime scene," Sara remarked one morning as she scooped fresh droppings into her gloved hand.

"Smells different," Grissom said from his perch just above her head.

In three days they had discovered the caterpillar they hunted lived at least four feet above the ground and Grissom, on a ladder, had discovered one eight feet high happily munching on leaves shaded by taller foliage. They followed protocols set by previous researchers. One of every five caterpillars was placed in a bag to study. A handful of leaves went into the bag; another handful in another bag. Each plant was marked on their grid, matched to its former occupant, the caterpillar, with a number so they could return and collect more leaves as needed.

Sara eyed the distance between ground and Grissom's height on the ladder. Droppings, appearing as tiny black oval-shaped seeds, would be found within a three foot radius of where the caterpillar was found. She had already learned distinguishing characteristics of "'pillar poop" as she named it.

Good days—clear skies, bright sun—helped them establish a routine they would follow for weeks ahead. A wishful hope of a gradual fading of Sara's mid-day sickness had not occurred, however, she adapted—throwing up mid-morning was followed by a long nap and ravenous hunger. She worked alongside Grissom until she vomited her breakfast—and it happened almost every day—and then she slept in the hammock as her equilibrium righted until Grissom woke her for their short walk back to the house. She found she could eat with every step she took on their return trip and this fought off the weak dizziness she had previously experienced.

Grissom marveled at her stamina and resilience when she tromped ahead of him and pointed out birds, butterflies, an occasional monkey, and did not complain even when queasiness hit her as a fist in the belly and doubled her over. She crawled into the hammock with a bottle of water, insisting "this will pass" and urging him to continue with his work. He knew her acceptance of this temporary illness was due to its cause—often a predictor of a positive outcome of pregnancy.

Afternoons, they worked with their specimens in shared isolation—others had their own work to do, volunteers arrived weekly to help with long-term studies—and when they finished, they headed back into the rainforest to explore the area trekking higher or lower brought a new perspective of plant and animal life. They found a flower filled meadow, the oddly cleared vacant remains of a former plantation, where the forest had yet to completely cover cleared land. They had stepped from a densely covered path to the open field and discovered the colors and scents of thousands of flowers. And among the flowers, moving as if they were carried on a breeze, were butterflies and hummingbirds brighter than the flowers.

A similar sound came from both in the form of a soft explosion of amazement. They glanced at each other, smiles forming on their faces.

"It's how I imagine paradise," Sara whispered.

Grissom looked at her, perplexed lines forming on his forehead. "Paradise as in Garden of Eden?"

She laughed. "An ideal place, dear." She reached for his hand and pulled him to the ground. "They don't even know to be frightened of us," she said as a hummingbird fluttered between their faces seeming to hang in mid air until its curiosity was satisfied and it returned to the field.

Grissom watched as Sara cleared a small circle for them to sit; their eyes just above the tallest blooms. And while she watched the field of flowers, he watched her—his eyes moving from the elaborate dance of butterflies to the spellbound face of his wife. She caught him once and asked: "What?"

His hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her between his legs so her back rested against his chest. They sat watching nature at play, comfortable with the quietness, only occasionally pointing to a specific bird or butterfly, until the afternoon sun made shadows that formed a crescent shade across the meadow and they knew it was time to leave this place.

At night, they worked on making the cottage into a home by spreading their belonging across the open room, a stack of books next to the sofa, a laptop on a small table, a blue shawl draped across the back of a chair. They ate simple meals at a table large enough for a family, jointly cleaned the kitchen, washed their clothes and laughed as they relearned how to hang wet clothes with wooden pegs.

As in Vegas, the bedroom was their haven with Grissom spreading clothes across most surfaces while Sara's things were carefully arranged on a dresser or in the wardrobe cabinet. And the room smelled of Sara, he thought—above every lush fragrance of the surrounding forest, her scent belonged here.

After their early morning lovemaking in the bathroom, both made good-natured complaints and decided the huge bed with its very comfortable mattress and mosquito net covering was much more suitable for enhancing certain pleasurable activities. Their accomplishment of pregnancy seemed to bring a fierce passion to their nights, a satisfaction in pleasure, which, as others had done before and would do in future nights, they believed to be unique—only between them.

One night, he said, "This is where we have always been coming to, Sara. Since our time began. This will be our midpoint." His hand caressed her hip, her belly, and moved to the valley between her breasts. "You hold my time," he said. "My past and my future—my center." And very slowly, with infinite gentle diversions to other parts of her body, they grew warm together in pleasure that intensified into those feelings of passionate ecstasy.

Almost two weeks after the home pregnancy test had shown positive, Sara and Grissom stepped inside a clinic for pregnant women for an afternoon appointment. Nora had a connection with the clinic from her last pregnancy and had helped make the appointment.

"There's a new doctor—from the States—from Texas—Dr. Ashley Torres," she said. "Costa Ricans love babies—so there're always lots of pregnant women. The clinic will be crowded but appointments are taken first."

Sara and Grissom stepped into an immaculately clean waiting room, whitewashed walls decorated with posters of babies, a colorful tile floor, plastic chairs around the room, and almost filled with women in varying stages of pregnancy. Grissom was the only male in the room and the women smiled and murmured greetings to these strangers and obvious foreigners.

Within minutes, Sara's name was called; Grissom followed her, turned at the doorway, smiled and raised his hand in the widely recognized sign for 'peace' or for victory. His gesture caused a twitter of laughter from those in the waiting room.

The nurse, speaking English far better than Sara's Spanish, asked dozens of questions, keying answers onto a touch screen. As she took vital signs she explained directions for the upcoming exam and handed Sara a small cup.

"The toilet and changing area—a gown for the exam." The nurse pointed to a closed door.

Sara followed instructions, including ones on a posted sign to place her urine cup on a small circular shelf before turning it. But she did not change into a disposable paper gown.

"I refuse to meet someone for the first time wearing something kin to a paper towel!" She told Grissom when she returned to the examining room.

He was laughing at her adamant refusal to change her clothes when a soft knock indicated the arrival of the physician; both looked at the door as it opened slowly. And whatever unspoken expectations they had for Dr. Ashley Torres dissipated as the young doctor entered the room.

Grissom quickly glanced at Sara; her eyes flicked to his in recognition of preconceived beliefs which had immediately vanished. Dr. Torres was male—a tall, Nordic blonde, blue-eyed young man in a white lab coat. Extending his hand, he said with a slight Texas drawl, "Mr. and Mrs. Grissom—it's nice to meet you."

In five minutes the young man explained two things—how he came to be in Costa Rica: "I spent years here with my surfing parents" and how he got his name: "my mother loved Ashley Wilkes" he said with such sparkle in his eyes Sara knew he had encountered many people who assumed, as she had, that Ashley was female. He reviewed her answers to previously asked questions, made his own notes, confirmed she had tested positive with the urine test, asked additional questions, and finally asked if Sara had questions.

They talked about morning sickness; the doctor assured her she was doing the right things and it should eventually disappear.

"Does this mean I'm definitely pregnant?"

The doctor's quiet laugh showed a row of flawless straight teeth. "We'll do blood testing, too. And, if you like, I can check you today—usually the cervix becomes bluish in color and with someone your size, I should be able to feel the uterus."

"Let me change," Sara said and quickly disappeared behind the closed door to the small changing room. By the time she returned, the two men were talking about the research facility, the environment, and caterpillar research. She stood, hands on her hips until Grissom patted the examining table as he continued talking. "I'm the patient here," she said with a good-natured grumble, "not some fat caterpillar!"

Sara propped heels in the position needed for the procedure; Dr. Torres snapped on gloves and moved between her knees. His bright eyes appeared above her sheet covered knees in less than a minute. "Oh, yes, definitely pregnant!"

"I knew it!" Grissom exclaimed, his face lit up with a wide smile.

"Are you sure?" Sara asked at the same time, a slight frown puckering her forehead.

"Oh, yes. Positively positive—you are pregnant." Dr. Torres' hand gently prodded her belly. "Definitely a firm uterus—tell me again the date of your last period," he said before carefully covering her and pushing his stool to her side. She told him the date he requested. "Every thing feels 'right' and it's early days yet but you can have a sonogram easily—it's done as a business here. But I would suggest—and I can make the appointment—going to Clinica Biblica Hospital in San Jose. What we do here is very basic—the hospital is adequate—a very good rural hospital." The young man glanced from Grissom to Sara several times as he continued to talk. "But you may want a more experienced doctor, more high-tech testing and equipment. Clinica Biblica has specialists in obstetrics who are world-class physicians."

Softly, Sara said, "It's four hours away."

"It is—near your due date you would have to stay in San Jose. Or you may decide to return to the States for delivery—that would be six to eight weeks before your due date."

"Is there a reason—a need for us to go to Clinica Biblica?" Grissom asked, worry creeping into his voice.

"No! Nothing to indicate anything is wrong—nothing like that. Some couples want amniocentesis, a scheduled c-section, a more—a more expensive setting—and Clinica Biblica is a top rated hospital."

Sara asked, "Do we have to decide today?"

Dr. Torres smiled. "No—today, I'm giving you prenatal vitamins and confirming what you've known. We'll do some blood work—check your iron level. Have you two been checked for Rh compatibility?" Both nodded. "Good—come back in a month—call for an appointment or just walk-in, and we'll weigh you, check your blood pressure. And we can check for heart beat. If you decide you want to go to Clinica Biblica, we can set you up then. Right now—congratulations on your baby." He checked Sara's chart and tapped the screen several times. "Here's your due date—a good month to have a baby—may I be the first to wish you a happy mother's day!"

_A/N: Have a great day-enjoy, read, review, next chapter soon!_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: sorry for the delay-read, enjoy, (bit of sweet smut), more to come!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 12**

That night Sara had the first of many dreams to come; this one of a glowing ball of light in her belly, warming her from the inside. In the middle of this warm dream, she woke to find Grissom's hand resting on her abdomen and, in a moment, her dream changed to the bone-deep yearning to have him make love to her.

Very deliberately, slowly, she slid the bottom of her foot along the length of his calf, past his knee, to his thigh and when she began moving her foot downward, he closed one hand around her body and held her pressed against him. She felt his breath against the curve of her neck as his knee parted her thighs.

The folds of the sheet settled lightly around them and Grissom was suddenly enveloped by a warm, indescribable fragrance—the Sara smell from the essence of the soap she used, the incredibly, feminine scent of her body. He felt as thought he had been thrust into a cocoon; all he had to do was breathe and his heart filled with Sara.

The warm light in Sara's dream exploded in passion as if she had walked into a room with too many mirrors—it was dazzling and a bit confusing until she felt Grissom's mouth moving on hers, deepening the kiss. He groaned, low, husky, yet velvety. His hand slipped around her neck, his fingers warm and strong with his caress. She put her hands underneath his soft shirt to feel his skin.

Grissom's fingers sifted through her hair before he slid his hands downward to her shoulders. The thin sleeveless chemise she wore barely covered her body.

"You are so soft," he said as he stroked the curve of her throat and moved his mouth to the place just below her ear. "Everything about you is silky and soft." His hand moved to her breasts where he cupped her in his palm as he lightly stroked his thumb across the tip of her swollen breast. He bent his head and took one nipple between his lips.

Sara touched him eagerly, taking pleasure with her lips as she placed tender kisses along a path made by her hands. Her fingers moved into his nest of curls, his hair longer now, and incredibly soft. He shivered as she kissed him from his ear to his chest—setting off a raw, aching sensuality that threatened to overwhelm him.

A moment later, they turned together and Grissom was on top of her; she could feel the thickened weight of his arousal against her thigh. She sucked in her breath.

He raised his head and looked into her dark eyes, "I want you."

His hand moved up the inside of her thigh and pressed against the dampness between her legs. Gently, he pushed his fingers underneath her panties, separating her, pushing his way into her center. At the same time, his thumb moved to the firm nub at the top of her sex.

"Gil," she spoke for the first time. His finger moved inside her, pressed upward and made a gentle sweeping caress, again and again. "I love you," she said against the side of his face. Her back arched, her body imploring against his touch.

He turned his face to meet her lips. A few seconds later, her panties and his boxers were crumpled at their feet as he moved between her thighs and fitted himself to her. "Hold me, Sara."

He eased himself carefully into her hot, snug passage and felt her tighten around him as he captured her mouth. Her arms wrapped around him; her legs gripped his. His mouth, his lips, the gentle touch of his teeth soothed, teased, and incited her with intimate passion; she lifted her hips to his and something seemed to give way inside him. He surged into her with one powerful stroke.

Sara felt the sensation of his weight, his fullness, the certainty of his love in this intensely intimate act. Slowly, Grissom eased partway out of her and then pushed slowly, relentlessly back into her. His breath warmed Sara's face as pleasure receptors began to override all other actions.

Muscles rippled, tightened, drawing him so deeply inside her there was a fleeting thought of becoming one. Yet, all thoughts were lost as passionate waves of pleasurable sensations led to orgasms in both, seconds apart. Every part of Grissom went rigid; his climax roared through him as he pumped himself into his beloved.

The collapse of her husband's body along the length of her own went almost unnoticed for several seconds. Her fingers caressed his damp back; she kissed his shoulder tasting the saltiness of his sweat.

Grissom grunted, moved slightly, but kept her legs entangled with his. "I love you, Sara—more than life itself." His fingers brushed her hair away from her face. When his breathing returned to normal, he said "You are an amazing woman, wife."

"Am I?"

"Most definitely," he closed his eyes. "You have not complained once—about any of this—pregnant in the middle of a rainforest, sick, throwing up every day—having none of the comforts of home. Listening to Paulina and Nora tell stories of pregnancy."

"I like it here," Sara said. "It's like a little village—even the kids like us."

"We need to talk about where our baby will be born, dear."

In what he thought was a random thought, Sara said, "I wish Hank could be here." She snuggled into the curve of his shoulder and arm and giggled, "I'm hoping to survive Betty's visit."

"Oh, she's going to be delighted. She's wanted to be a grandmother for more years than I want to think about."

He felt Sara's soft laugh before he heard its sound. She said, "I know she's been checking me out for years." He felt her belly ripple again with a laugh. "Maybe we should see if she notices anything before we tell her?"

Grissom laughed with her. "The crib in the next room might give her a clue."

In the dark, unable to see her face, he knew she grimaced before she giggled. "I've got plans for that thing!"

He reached above the bed and turned on a lamp; soft light flooded the bed. His eyes met hers—shining with love and expectation. His fingers played along the intimate line of her chest where her breast began its swell. He loved the feel of her softness here, an especially erotic area that never ceased to cause a response in his groin. Tonight, she turned to him, welcoming his caress.

He whispered, "I'll never get enough of you." His hand cupped her left breast and he bent to kiss the other.

Another day and night passed before he thought to mention the subject again. They were sitting on the porch watching insects hit the screens as Grissom named one after another. "Have you thought about where you want to have the baby?" He reached to take Sara's hand.

Her fingers threaded with his. "Do you think we could have Nick send Hank to us?" His questioning eyes met hers. "I love being here, Gil. And I would love to have this baby where we've been so happy—no sad memories. We can have him—or her—here and you can keep working on your grant."

She wanted the dog here, Grissom thought, so she could have her baby and he would not have to pass his work on to others. He moved to take her face between his palms.

"Sara, I would abandon a thousand grants to do what you want—if you want to go home, we can. We can get Hank here if that's what you want."

Soft light played with the color of his eyes, Sara thought, cerulean blue—like the sky on a clear day—so trusting, so intense, as he gazed at her face in such a heartfelt way. She thought her heart might burst from her chest.

"I'd like to make an appointment in San Jose—just for my own peace of mind, Gil. I like Dr. Torres—even though I haven't been to a male physician in years—I like his earnest honesty. The hospital here will be perfectly fine—as I have no intentions of staying very long!" She glanced at their hands and then back to his face. "I think we've made the perfect baby," she smiled quickly, "yet I worry constantly—not constantly but a lot—about a thousand things, but I have only good dreams about this little bean."

Grissom looked at her with an odd expression on his face. "Bean?"

"Yeah, a fetus looks more like a bean than anything I can think of," she giggled. "You've seen sonograms!" With her finger, she drew an image in the air. "Take another look. You'll see what I mean—even though you will say it looks like a curled caterpillar."

He flashed a quick smile, and became serious just as quickly. "We can go home—Vegas. Everyone will be happy to have us back."

"I know—and I might change my mind. But I like all this life around us—everyone, everything is so exuberant; people are so cheerful and excited about living. It's so—so green and lush—and real." She curled her fingers into his palm. "Home is with you and you are here."

As Sara's dreams became a regular part of sleep, the sickness that plagued her since the day of her arrival began to fade. Life became a series of events—tucked around days of collecting caterpillars, gathering fresh leaves, watching, and waiting. Grissom likened the process to pregnancy. Sara stuck her tongue out as a response but reluctantly agreed—both processes started out in a form that had no resemblance to the end product.

Nearly six weeks after their arrival, they drove to San Jose in the facility's truck—Sara had an appointment with a group of obstetric specialists and Betty and Greg were scheduled to arrive the next day. They had a long list of supplies to purchase for everyone at the facility—from plastic bags in bulk to computer ink, a new game for one of the kids and a myriad list of foods from a wholesale grocery store.

Plans for their visitors included several days at the research facility, a trip to a beach resort, and a day trip to an active volcano. Betty would stay in the house with them—Sara and Paulina had worked tirelessly to create a comfortable room for Grissom's mother. Greg would sleep in the facility dorm along with a small group of volunteers who had arrived the week before. And the crib—Grissom had laughed until he wiped tears from his cheeks—as Sara, barely three months pregnant, still experiencing occasional nausea, had firmly, but patiently, explained to the other women what she planned to do with the wheeled crib. Afterwards, the women decided it was perfect.

_A/N: Thanks so much for your comments & support! Reviews truly appreciated!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Another chapter-enjoy! And the answer to your question! _

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 13**

The Clinica Biblica Hospital was stunningly beautiful with its modern, sleek design, glass and metal reflecting the blue sky, and that was its first impression. From arrival to departure, Sara was treated as a distinguished guest—valet parking, an escort to the physicians offices, a waiting room designed and furnished with attention paid to comfort and clinical needs. After Sara gave her name to a young woman sitting behind an expensive desk, they were immediately taken to a room resembling a lavish library. Not a disposable gown in sight, Sara thought.

She whispered her thoughts to Grissom who was busy checking out the rows of books on massive shelves.

"And no one reads these books either," he chuckled. He picked up as expensively published magazine, holding it so she could see the cover. "Is this for real?"

Sara giggled.

The obstetrical offices would fit in any American medical center—as would the physicians they met—expensively dressed, serious about the profession, and proceeded with a comprehensive examination of Sara, asking questions, referring to her medical record which had been sent from Las Vegas. She was sent for serum blood work—accompanied by another escort who waited while blood was drawn. Back in the office, they were shown into another room for an ultrasound where a young woman prepped Sara for the procedure. This room, like the rest of the building, was luxuriously decorated and furnished so there was little resemblance to it's actually purpose.

In this cool, professional setting, the first images of baby Grissom were projected onto a large flat screen—clearly moving around, a tiny hand opening in a wave, legs moving—and when Sara laughed, the baby flipped and turned. Even the solemn-faced physician smiled as they watched the tumbling, frolicking actions of an infant who weighed less than half a pound.

"This is amazing," Grissom whispered.

The technician provided a small flash drive with the sonogram images. She smiled as she said "For family to see."

Hours later, the exhausted couple collapsed onto separate double beds in a hotel near the airport.

"I thought they were going to keep us until I went into labor," Sara laughed.

"That place rivals any office—hospital in Vegas—reminds me of those private plastic surgery clinics—no one sees any other patients! As if you are getting undivided attention!" Grissom said as he pushed pillows underneath his head.

"That's even more depressing," Sara said with a grin; they both laughed. She held her hand across the space between the beds; Grissom rolled over with a groan, which caused Sara to laugh, and took her hand in his.

"I know the answer—what did you think?" He sat up and moved to the bed where she lay and began a gentle massage of her neck and shoulders.

"I think we are having a healthy baby. I don't want to have an amniocentesis. I want to be surprised when this little guy comes into the world." She sighed. "And I like Dr. Torres—he's happy and loves what he's doing."

"Are you sure? We could find out if there's a problem…"

She shook her head. "Our baby is fine—we'll deal with…"

"Shhh…" he said, putting a finger to her lips, and then without another word, he lay beside her and took her in his arms and kissed her. "We will—we will." He kissed her again, smiled and said, "The doctor did say everything looked good—you are very healthy!" His laughter began as a quiet chuckle building to a laugh.

Sara rolled over to face him. Her voice changed to sound like one of the physician's, "'You are very healthy for a woman of your age!' I can't believe that fancy-oh-so-proper physician actually said that! Like I'm seventy years old!"

Grissom could not keep his laughter quiet; he put his arms around her and kissed her until their kisses were increasingly passionate, and within minutes their bodies were entwined, tangled in sheets, both completely dressed. Without saying a word, she peeled his shirt away from him; he tossed her top into the air. With a skill that always surprised Grissom, she unzipped his pants, placed a toe at the bottom of the zipper and slipped her foot between his legs. And using some magic motion, his pants were at his ankles where a swift kick sent them sailing after her shirt.

The weather was unusually warm when the plane landed at San Jose; within minutes, Grissom read a message from his mother. He showed it to Sara as they locked the truck and headed to baggage claim.

"Looks like all is well with our travelers," he said with a smile.

They were still smiling when they saw Greg's waving hand in the crowd and minutes later, Sara and Greg, Grissom and his mother were hugging and over-talking each other in the excitement of arrival. Grissom took charge of luggage as Sara took over the conversation with Betty.

"Hot, isn't it?" Greg asked once they were outside and putting bags in the covered bed of the truck. "I like this ride!"

The road leaving San Jose was one of the best in the country and jammed with traffic. Cars and trucks traveled slowly while motorcycles and scooters weaved around and through traffic at dizzying speeds. Greg and Betty barely noticed as Greg talked to Grissom about what had been happening in Vegas while Betty signed dozens of questions to Sara mostly about plans for the visit.

They stopped to eat after an hour of driving; the place had been recommended by Nora and Dan and met expectations with a variety of foods from local fish and fresh vegetables to cinnamon flavored ice cream. The second hour of driving was faster until they had to slow as the highway climbed and twisted through spectacular mountains—Sara remembered their flight over and around these mountains on their first trip to the research center. By the third hour, Greg was asleep in the front seat; Sara pointed out small villages nestled among bright tropical backgrounds.

Before the sun and light completely vanished for night, they drove into the cleared grounds of the research facility. Grissom turned to see his mother's expression as he slowed to cross a small bridge. While they had grown accustomed to the place, returning at dusk brought a renewed realization to both of them. And today, enough sunlight remained to show the beauty of the area—the rustic wood of the buildings, the reflection of twilight off metal roofs, the dark green of abundant flora and the almost unbelievable proliferation of flowers.

Sara heard a quiet intake of air; Greg was speechless.

Betty was signing—asking which building was their house. Sara pointed. Before she could bring her hand down, doors opened of several of the houses and a dozen people came to meet them.

"The official welcoming party," Grissom explained.

Another hour passed before the truck was unloaded of supplies and groceries, Greg was settled into a dorm room, and the Grissoms finally got inside their house with Betty. Sara showed her around while Grissom took her bags to the second bedroom.

"Shared bath," Sara signed as she opened the door nearest their bedroom. "And that one opens on your side of the house."

Suddenly, the second door opened and Grissom stood in the doorway, smiling. He motioned for them. "Your room, Mom," he signed.

He stepped aside to allow Betty to enter the second bedroom. Sara and Paulina had placed several things in the room to make it comfortable, but what they had spent hours on was placed in the corner of the room, not concealed but out of view when one walked into the room.

Betty turned, signing "This is perfect."

Grissom and Sara remained in the doorway. Grissom signed "Any thing you need, ring the bell." A small metal bell had been placed beside the bed—a holdover from his childhood.

"You think of everything," Betty signed and when she turned again, she saw the net covered crib. A second ticked, then another before she glanced at the two standing with arms curved around each other; a brief bewildered expression crossed on her face. She took several steps and lifted a hand-lettered sign placed in the center of the crib.

For what seemed like several minutes but was actually a few seconds, she looked at the sign before turning to face Grissom and Sara. Her finger went to her chest. "Me" she signed.

Grissom nodded, both faces beamed with wide smiles. Betty held the sign to her chest and smiled. She whispered "A grandmother—me!" Her arms opened and Grissom stepped forward. She laughed and elbowed him away. "Sara," she said as she hugged her daughter-in-law.

Exhaustion and sleep forgotten as Betty asked the usual questions; Grissom plugged the thumb drive into his computer and all three watched the small form on the screen. When the baby's hand unfurled as if to wave, Betty laughed, clapped her hands, and waved at the screen.

"Does Greg know? We must tell him. Boy or girl?" She signed. "Or secret? I do not care."

"Unknown," Sara signed. "We want a surprise."

Betty agreed, motioning for Grissom to replay the sonogram.

Grissom signed, "We wanted you to know first." He texted a brief message to Greg and in ten minutes, the young man was knocking on the door.

"What are we celebrating?" He asked when Grissom opened the door. Sara held up a bottle of sparkling juice as he entered the house.

Grissom signed as he said "I finally did it, Greg. Sara is knocked up!"

Betty made a gruff sound and shook her head at her son in disapproval. When everyone looked at her, she signed "What my son meant to say, Greg, is Sara is pregnant. I am going to be a grandmother, finally." Her smile was almost as wide as Grissom's.

Greg heard how Betty learned she was going to be a grandmother; he shook Grissom's hand, and hugged Sara—twice.

Greg asked most of the same questions as Betty—adding one that had not been mentioned. "Will you have the baby in Vegas or here?" He and Sara were preparing a plate of fruit and cheese while Grissom and his mother were across the room.

"We haven't told Betty—she hasn't asked—but I think we'll have the baby here. That way we can finish the grant work." She looked at her good friend with wide, bright eyes. "Would you come back with Betty? I'm going to ask her to return—so she can be here for the birth" Sara made a quick grimace. "Maybe that will ease the news that her grandbaby will be born here," she whispered.

Later, with Greg serving as director, they sent a brief video message to Nick, Catherine, Jim Brass and several others. The camera showed an image of Sara's belly—so close that all one could see was fabric. Slowly the camera backed away to show Sara and Betty, holding the sign from the crib listing fourteen names for "grandmother" while Grissom pointed to Sara's abdomen and held another sign with a date.

Within minutes, there were so many responses to their message Grissom commented "Can't be much crime in Vegas tonight!"

Much later, Greg crawled into his bed in the male dorm room as quietly as he could. He had sent David Hodges and Nick Stokes a message: "I won—you owe me!" He had no way of knowing when Sara and Grissom left Vegas, but he had won the bet—Sara was pregnant and Grissom was dancing on air with delight.

_A/N: This story will be completed in 15-16 chapters, so the end is coming soon! Hope it will be a pleasing "Finale" for everyone!_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **_A long chapter for a beautiful weekend! Enjoy!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 14**

For several days, Betty and Greg followed Grissom and Sara into the forest, collecting leaves and caterpillars. Betty refused to "scoop poop" as Greg called it, but she had no qualms about plucking fat green worms from underneath leaves. They also set a dozen butterflies free—one with an official name and now identified by its caterpillar and food source.

So many volunteers came to visit the facility, the arrival of two more barely caused a notice, except for Betty's sign language. The children immediately noticed the hand motions and watched from a distance until she waved them over. Sara served as Betty's voice as she explained the loss of hearing and how Betty communicated with her hands. Nora's oldest daughter, a young teenager who had been away in school for several months, took a keen interest in learning as many words as possible and followed Betty and Sara around for several days.

Sara was certain Jessica's interest in sign language was sincere, but she also thought Greg's presence might add to the girl's fascination with their new guests, until a brief conversation with Nora.

"Run Jessica back to her own house, Sara. I don't want her to be a pest," Nora said.

Sara laughed, "She's no pest—and she and Betty are entertaining each other with sign language."

"She's really curious about your pregnancy," Nora explained. "She's thirteen—in an all-girl's school—away from home for three months at a time. She comes home and we've all changed—she's growing up." Nora's eyes revealed an anxiety not normally present.

Sara waved her hand. "She's fine; don't worry." Betty and Jessica were several yards ahead of the two women. "I'll show her the ultrasound of the baby. It's pretty amazing."

"She'll be on your porch every morning, Sara. Tell her to go home when you tire of her."

Smiling, Sara said, "She'll move on to someone or something else soon."

The next day, in a rented car, the Grissom's and Greg left for the beach. Volunteers would feed the caterpillars and take notes while they were gone.

Compared to the drive from San Jose, the drive to the coast was short and enjoyable. At the end of a tree-lined paved road they reached their beach destination and climbed several levels of stairs to the rental unit, which was like a Swiss Family Robinson tree house nestled in sprawling branches in a tropical forest. All the bedrooms faced the ocean and were joined by a shared veranda shaded by massive vines. A spiral staircase climbed to a roof top deck, open to the sky and with a view of the beach and ocean far below.

In the afternoon, they walked along the beach, timing waves and watching as a dark cloud on the horizon changed the color of the sea. Quickly, the water became choppy, bringing bigger swells and little splashing bursts of smaller waves. Swimmers and body surfers floated and swam like friendly seals. Dozens of shells washed in with the bigger waves and Betty and Sara stayed busy collecting olives, slipper, cockles, and cat's paws, each one prettier than a previous one. Greg ventured into the water, nearly getting knocked over by a big wave that drenched him from neck to feet. After that, he stayed in the water, laughing as he tried to body surf in waves that would not cooperate.

A light rain began to fall, a warm tropical drizzle that felt like the moisture-saturated air inside a cloud.

Betty signed, "It feels like silk."

That night, they followed a raised boardwalk to the resort's restaurant where strings of lights turned the night into shades of blue and purple and rock music mixed with the steady percussion of the waves. Greg and Grissom ate roasted pork spiced with citrus and achiote spiced juices wrapped in banana leaves while Betty and Sara ordered the vegetarian selection—arroz verde or green rice, beans and mango served with rajas con crema—peppers with cream, and roasted corn.

At the end of the meal, Betty signed "We possess a kind of wealth, a small fortune, to live like this."

During the night, when Sara heard Greg's snoring in the next room, she nuzzled Grissom awake with soft kisses along his throat. "Let's go to the roof," she whispered.

They pulled pillows and sheets from the bed and climbed the stairs—carefully to keep the metal steps from creaking. They moved chairs and spread the sheets across cushions from the chairs. The breeze from the ocean cleared the air of bugs and made the leaves of trees rustle with an echo of a restless sea.

The night sky had cleared, brightened with stars and a sliver of moon yet the deep darkness hid the ocean except for the white tops of cresting curls.

"Big waves," Grissom commented as they stood next to a flimsy net that marked the edge of the deck. He ran hands along Sara's shoulders that pushed the thin strap of her top to her arms. With a simple shrug, it dropped to her feet. His breath caught at the sight of her luminous skin, her dark areolas appearing as symmetrical flowers to a hidden garden. He reached to touch one with his finger, gently, delicately circling the area before she leaned against him.

Silently, they moved to the simple bed they had made of cushions and sheets. Slowly, he let himself be drawn and enticed by the scent and warmth around him—the strength of their love, the healthy beauty of Sara's body, felt her growing desire, and knew she wished to be loved tonight in a different way. She wanted his hunger, his passion, his undivided attention.

He bent to her face and began to kiss her—her lips first, moving to her smooth cheeks, the tip of her nose, the space between her eyes. He watched as the gentle light inundated her body; he followed delicate shadows as he kissed her. Sara held still as though under a charm of moonlight until his tongue reached the middle of her abdomen and flicked against her skin; she giggled and felt his teeth as he grinned.

Loving Gil Grissom, being loved by him, had changed Sara's life with unquestionable certainty. She knew, but never voiced, her brain had shifted the day he found her in Costa Rica, and while her appearance, her voice, her genes never changed, everything that came from her brain saw life differently. She smiled when his finger stroked her and she felt the muscles of her butt clench in response.

Gently, Grissom lifted her up, centered her, then lowered her slowly onto his erection. She emitted a hushed cry, more an audible gasp than a sound; his palms slid upwards to cover both breasts before grasping her as his hips began a rhythmic pumping—slowly, gently, taking time for tempo to increase. Sara leaned forward, meeting his lips with hers.

This was the way she was loved—tenderly, confidently, carefully modulating rhythm with meticulous determination, all the while he kissed her with such open adoration—at times she wanted to cry tears of joy for all the world to see. Grissom played her, worked her until the rooftop swayed, the earth's axis wobbled before it exploded, and she was a puddle on the sheets.

Afterwards, wrapped together in a cocoon of white sheets, Grissom promised to tell his mother their plans to remain in Costa Rica.

"She'll be fine—especially when you invite her to be here—are you sure you want it to be this way?" Grissom was propped on his elbow and using one finger to trace some invisible design along Sara's body.

"Yes," she stated. "More so now than a month ago." She snuggled against him. "As this has never happened to me before, everything is new—I've read so much I think my brain has turned into an encyclopedia on child birth! And I still don't know enough!" She laughed and placed a finger on his cheek in a light caress. "Dr. Torres is a good doctor—the local hospital will be fine." She kissed him, lightly, and then smiled. "This is a good life—Betty was right tonight. We do possess a great wealth." Her eyes closed as she placed her head on his shoulder.

Another month passed. Sara realized what she felt was movement of her baby; puzzled at first by the odd, unfamiliar flutter just below the center of her belly. Flowers bloomed and wilted. The caterpillars in the forest developed into cocoons, and the rains came. This was the time when Sara and Grissom had intended to return to Vegas but instead, they remained at the research facility, both able to assist others when they were not cataloging notes and working on their own project.

They ate meals with their neighbors, shopped in the local market, and provided amusing entertainment to the children at the research center. Grissom remembered every scientific trick and joke he had ever done; they made chewing gum from the resin of the sapodilla tree, lit up a pickle, turned urine blue, lifted fingerprints, and blew up several plastic containers while pretending their experiment had gone wrong.

And Sara seemed to grow a pregnant tummy overnight. Everyone commented on what appeared to be this sudden, obvious display of pregnancy. Dr. Torres assured her this was normal. She walked into the clinic twice during the month and waited with a dozen other pregnant women and learned certain things—foods to eat for indigestion, which market stall had the best diaper cloth, another one with beautiful baby clothes.

Young Jessica visited every day. She begged Sara to talk with her mother; the girl did not want to return to boarding school. Over several days, an on-going conversation about school and college, family and friends developed between the two. Jessica did not know, and Sara would never tell her, but Sara had decided in the first minutes of their discussion to take Jessica's case to her mother. When Sara offered to tutor Jessica in math and physics, Nora and Dan relented. They wanted their daughter at home, but they wanted her well-prepared for college.

They set a schedule—after a mid-day rest, Jessica and Sara spent time together—two days of math, three days of science to introduce energy, matter, force and motion and how they related to each other. The next week, the schedule changed to three days of math and two days of physics. Jessica thrived.

One afternoon, during a steady, gray rain when everyone seemed to disappear inside houses, a small red van drove over the bridge and into the research facility grounds. The driver seemed to be lost for a minute or so before the car turned toward the Grissom house. Grissom got up from his desk and went to the porch. Sara followed.

"Are you expecting someone?" She asked, peering at the vehicle as it stopped several yards from the house. She could barely see the hat-wearing driver inside, moving from the driver's seat to the back seat.

Grissom opened the screen door just as the back door of the vehicle slid open; he made a soft whistle and a big brown furry animal made three leaping jumps to the front porch.

Sara shouted "Hank!" several times as the dog sailed from the van, passed Grissom and went to her. For a minute or so, chaos surrounded the two people as the dog wove around legs and licked faces; the humans patted and hugged the dog until Sara looked up to find the driver and another person standing on the porch.

"Nick! Jim!" Surprise and shock registered as her butt dropped to the porch. Hank tried to climb into her lap.

Nick and Grissom slapped each other on the back and grinned at their ability to keep a secret. Sara struggled to push the dog aside and rise. Jim Brass extended his hand to her and when she stood, Nick whistled.

"Look at you! You look like you've swallowed a—a cantaloupe!" He hugged Sara, backed away to look at her at arm's length. "You look good—really good!"

"Ignore him," Brass advised. "What does he know about pregnant women?" And he hugged Sara with such force she was always knocked off her feet.

The red mini-van was hers Grissom announced. He had ordered it from a dealer in San Jose and the two men had delivered it to her along with her dog.

"With a dog and a baby, we needed good transportation," he explained.

Nick and Brass stayed a week and for a week it rained. They walked in the forest covered in rain gear, shopped as mud slopped around their feet and drove through a downpour to reach an active volcano where rivulets of muddy water were so deep they stayed in the parking lot instead of venturing on a trail. But none of them seemed to care as they talked and laughed about a thousand subjects.

"And you really are going to stay here for delivery?" Nick asked at dinner one night. "And does Betty know this?"

Sara eyed Grissom, saying nothing.

"The hospital is a good one. We like this doctor," Grissom said. "And I haven't told my mother—so don't you tell her." He chuckled. "Even though that might be a good idea!"

Another month passed, the daily rains stopped, and there was a strange new smell. It was a green smell, of plants and trees and sap. Flowers bloomed in unbelievable profusion, and wildlife thrived. Every morning, a cacophony of bird songs and monkey twittering woke Sara and Grissom. Their first report on their research had been completed and well received by the reviewers. And Sara flourished.

She had taken a plain, scantily furnished house and added personal items to make it their home. Few things had been brought with them, so most of her "decorating" had come from items purchased in the local market—brilliantly colored crimson, sunflower yellow, peacock blues, nothing pale or pastel. On shelves she had placed bottles, bowls, and unusual paperweights; she found woodcuts of native animals and hung these on the white walls.

Nearly every night, they read, not scientific journals and research, but novels and mysteries, fiction and non-fiction, loaned from others or Grissom's beloved and battered Shakespeare. Sara would read a passage aloud adding "I want to see this place" and he would read a mystery book and solve the ending better than the author.

Grissom did not hide his amazement at the transformation taking place before his eyes as Sara's pregnancy progressed. His scientific mind knew the course of life but his eyes and emotions saw something else as Sara grew into motherhood. During the day, she worked beside him as she had always done; an unspoken connection between them caused her hand to appear when both his hands were full. He would present her with food and drink before she knew she was hungry or thirsty. At home and in bed, he noticed how her hands would clasp together under her breasts in some ancient protectiveness of the life she carried and he was awed by this strange, yet common experience.

"Are you afraid?" He asked when he took her in his arms one night.

"Not in the least. It's funny, you know. How I can gain weight but it isn't heavy—not yet anyway," she said as she stroked his hair and kissed his eyes and he responded with an aching desire. She loved him when he was most vulnerable, unguarded, mystified by all of it.

At the end of her sixth month, Sara insisted Grissom tell his mother their plans. "You can't delay any longer," she insisted. "She asks every week when will we return—have I thought about what we want in a nursery, have I thought about formula or breast feeding."

"Have you?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.

She stuck her elbow into his chest. "Tell her!" She smirked. "Then I'll tell you my plans."

"Will you decide on names?" Grissom asked as he lifted the sheet, running his hand over her protruding belly. "Hey, little bean! Your mother won't decide on a name! We may have to call you 'Baby Moonbeam Flowers in a Meadow'" he said with a laugh.

Sara teased, "I haven't seen a list of names you like, dear!"

He had disappeared underneath the sheet; she felt his fingers tickling her thighs. Giggling, she lifted her knees to trap his head and heard a deep, rumbling laugh right before he kissed her.

_A/N: Two more chapters for this story. We will be taking a break from writing fanfiction for a while after we finish this story due to other things going on. We still have a few ideas to develop, but not sure when or if we will write these as stories. Really do hate to say this, but interest in CSI (and GSR as a result) seems to be at an all-time low. _

_So, please enjoy the closing chapters-review if you think we have written a good story-the reading is free, all we ask is a comment from you! Some of you are like good friends-alway encouraging, always review, and we appreciate your comments more than you know! Thanks..._


	15. Chapter 15

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 15**

The weeks had gone by with surprising swiftness thanks to Grissom, books, Jessica, and for the past week, Betty and Greg. Five weeks before Sara's due date, Betty had arrived practically swooning with joy, bringing a suitcase filled with diapers, infant clothes in white and pastel colors and blankets and sheets printed with tiny ducks, frogs, toys, and laughing babies. Earlier, Grissom and Greg had gotten up before dawn and headed to a recently opened area of a government-owned preserve where Grissom was convinced he would discover an untouched habitat of a certain caterpillar.

Sara had gone back to bed after they left; her back ached more than usual, she signed to Betty. Her mother-in-law's arrival had made things easier, Sara thought as she stretched on the bed, arranging pillows and trying to get comfortable. She ran a hand over her belly and wished Grissom had stayed at home so he could give her a back massage. She smiled; he had been as excited as a little boy with a new toy when he left.

After making sure Sara was asleep, Betty settled into a chair to read. She had been disappointed when Gil told her they were staying in Costa Rica until after the baby's birth. But Sara had made up for that by inviting her to arrive weeks before the baby was due, and had sent a list of 'necessities' for a new baby. Betty had enjoyed shopping for everything, and added a few surprises she would keep for later—and Greg had insisted he would travel with her.

She read several pages, her eyes closed, and, within minutes, she was asleep.

Groggy from sleep, Sara woke—she groaned as a dull ache twisted along her spine. Fake labor, she thought, as she pushed herself out of bed. She had read about Braxton-Hicks pain and Dr. Torres had mentioned fake labor during her last visit.

"Don't think labor is fake, Sara," he cautioned. "Come in if you even think you might be going into labor." He had meticulously reviewed her record, checked the baby's position, and declared her cervix to be "a perfect cervix" causing her and Grissom to laugh.

Getting out of bed, she felt a clammy wetness between her legs, said a curse word, and ran into the bathroom. With a touch of a towel to her legs, she knew this was not sweat or urine. Suddenly, taking her off guard, pain screwed around her pelvis with such force it pushed her forward. Immediately, another pain shot up her spine. Losing her grip, she slipped to the floor, crying out in the process.

Was this labor, she thought, not exactly as described and a month early. Another pain hit—stronger than the others—and unbelievable pressure. She gulped in air and shouted, knowing it was useless—Betty could not hear her. And then Hank came to the door.

The dog sat in the doorway a perplexed look on his face.

"Hank—go to Betty. Go get Betty." Sara cried as she pointed toward the front of the house.

The dog remained sitting.

Another pain clenched and seized Sara. She managed to grip the side of the tub; this was not what she thought labor would be, and just as pain subsided, fluid gushed from her body. She grabbed a towel.

Hank disappeared.

"Okay," she said quietly, talking to herself. "This part I understand—I've got to get help." Attempting to push herself up, more pink tinged fluid trickled to the floor. Before she could get to her feet, another contraction hit causing her to slide to her knees. She panted for air, willing herself to relax as much as possible; this was not how she planned to have her baby.

Hank's nose nuzzled against Betty's leg, moved to her lap, nudged the book, and then licked her hand. She woke, startled by the dog's attentions. She leaned forward and patted his head; the dog walked away. She sat back in her chair. Hank came back to her, placed his head in her lap, and looked at her with puzzled brown eyes. When her hand came up to pet him, he backed away, looking in the direction of the bedroom.

She stood and Hank trotted to the bathroom door, pausing several times to look back at Betty, and turned again to the bathroom. Immediately, Betty, knowing something had happened, ran to the doorway just as another pain tore through Sara.

Quickly, Betty got a washcloth. "Help," Betty whispered as she wet a washcloth and wiped Sara's face. "We need help."

Sara nodded. "Go—Nora or Rose."

Betty ran as fast as she could. She wasn't sure who lived in which house and no one came as she banged on the first door. She turned to go to the next one when she saw Jessica walking from the research building. She waved, then clapped her hands. Jessica instantly knew something was wrong and even though she did not follow the fast signing Betty was doing, she caught enough from Betty's frantic appearance to realize Sara was having her baby.

"I'll get Mom—I'll get everyone!" She ran to the big research building.

Betty hurried back to the house; she hoped the child was going for help, she thought. She found Hank sitting at the bathroom door; Sara was where she had left her.

"Help—coming," Betty whispered. She bathed Sara's face again. "Hospital—soon."

Sara shook her head. She had never had a baby but she was certain this one wasn't waiting on a trip to the hospital. She heard noise—voices—as others entered the house. She closed her eyes as another fierce pain wrapped around her body with bone-crushing intensity; her vision dimmed as she murmured "Gil".

She knew she was being moved by strong arms, unfamiliar hands grasped her leg and her arm; she felt stiff fabric covering someone's chest. She felt the bed, oddly firm, and heard more voices. She struggled to open her eyes.

"Ahhh—there you are." A cool, scented cloth wiped across her face. "You'll be fine, Sara. Dr. Torres is on his way. Gil will be here soon."

Sara opened her eyes to the worried faces of Nora, Betty, and Rose. "It's too soon—a month early," she said.

Rose brushed hair away from Sara's face. "It seems you need a hair band every time we are in the bathroom together," she said with a laugh.

Sara managed to smile. "My mother always said that, too." She tried to lift her hand before she realized Betty was holding it. Another pain, not quite as severe as the previous one, gripped her abdomen and back as a tremendous desire to push invaded her pelvis.

"It's too soon, Rose."

The older woman heard the fear in Sara's voice. She combed Sara's hair with her fingers. "Babies sort of set their own time to come, dear. And this little one appears to be on its way—in a hurry!"

A pain caused her to grimace and grip the hands holding hers—Betty and Nora managed to smile.

"We have not decided on a name," Sara said.

The women seemed to know what to do; every time a contraction came, one was on either side of Sara holding her hand or keeping a hand on her head. Jessica appeared with cool wash cloths every few minutes. Sara could hear other voices—a lot of them—outside the bedroom, but none belonged to who she wanted.

It had seemed like hours, but only twenty minutes had passed from the time Betty had summoned help until Dr. Torres ran into the house, arriving with a bag in each hand, his excitement turning a frightful, unexpected event into a joyous, good-humored one. He joked, he laughed, he took charge of the chaos—he sent everyone out of the house except for the three women and young Jessica who he put to boiling water. He teased Sara as he gave pain medication.

"Are you sure about that last date of your period?" He asked after requesting privacy for a pelvic exam. "Because you are ready to have this baby—I'd say a healthy, full-term baby from the feel and looks of things."

The pain medication had helped, Sara thought. At least she could think. "I had a period—I know I did—about two weeks after Gil got home."

He placed a blood pressure monitor on her finger. "I think you had a 'period' that was really implantation bleeding—which would put your delivery date," he chuckled, "about right now."

"You think the baby is fine?"

"The baby is fine—you are fine." He placed another monitor pad to her belly. "I thought you were further along the first time I examined you, but it's hard to tell just by feeling." He laughed again. "Truth is most of what we do is a guess based on what the mother tells us."

"Have you ever delivered a baby at home?" Sara asked. The doctor had pulled a stack of disposable bed pads from his bag and began positioning them under Sara's hips. Then he moved pillows to her back.

"I have—the first two I delivered here were in homes. That's when I decided to fill two bags with what I needed for home-births. I have everything but epidurals and baby bottles!"

Another contraction came; he placed tightly rolled sponges in Sara's hands for her to grip and called to Rose.

"Any news from this baby's daddy? We can't wait much longer!"

Rose stuck her head in the bedroom. "Coming fast—Greg is driving! What do you want us to do with all this hot water?"

Dr. Torres laughed. "Make tea!" He looked at Sara and whispered. "I never knew what the hot water was for when I watched all those old movies—but now I know—tea!" He pulled a stool beside the bed as another contraction distorted Sara's face and caused her to pull forward.

The physician called for the women to return to the bedroom. "This is happening quickly," he said. "Let's move her so her feet are against the foot of the bed."

As they slid her along the bed, adjusted pillows, and wiped her face, Sara began to cry. "I want Gil to be here." Big tears spilled out of her eyes, tracked along her cheeks, making damp spots on the pillow. She bit her lip trying to stop the tears; gently, Betty wiped her eyes.

"He will be here," Betty said, her voice unusually hoarse as she spoke. "He will."

The words were not out of her mouth when a commotion was heard from the front of the house. Everyone turned as Gil Grissom burst into the bedroom coming to a sudden halt as he tried to take in the scene before him. Three women, including his mother, stood around the bed, Sara was propped up on a massive mound of pillows, a face-splitting smile on her face—he hoped that was what it was. The young doctor was at the foot of the bed, one hand resting on Sara's knee.

"Gil," two voices breathed his name in a sigh of relief.

Dr. Torres took charge. "Get that sweaty shirt off, Dr. Grissom! You need to get over here in a hurry! Coach time!"

Grissom stumbled across the floor leaving his shirt on the floor and grabbing one from a folded stack inside the closet. Someone called for another stool, but he did not wait as he scooted onto the bed to reach Sara.

"We're having a baby, Sara! Today!" He grinned as he wiped hands with alcohol gel and stretched to kiss her.

Rose cried, "You're pants—you're pants are filthy! Take off your pants!"

"What?" As he said the word, Grissom unsnapped his pants.

Sara started laughing. Betty appeared confused as he started wiggling out of his trousers. Nora helped by pulling his shoes off and then grabbed the cuff of his pants. Everyone in the room laughed at the comical sight—more hands tugged on his pants, his mother patted his butt.

"At least he's wearing underwear!" Sara quipped. Thirty seconds later a powerful contraction surged through her body. Grissom watched, eyes wide, as she pushed, breathed, pushed again as Dr. Torres gave directions.

"She's doing great—Dad, do your work!"

Sara breathed, panted, and in another minute, another contraction gripped her body. Grissom's voice filled her ears with words only she could hear, holding her as if he would never let her go.

There were other sounds in the room, Sara was certain of it, but all she heard was the sound of her husband's voice as her body worked; she felt the power of Grissom's arms and hands as he held her between his legs. She didn't remember how he had gotten behind her but knew his strength flowed into her veins. She pushed, mightily, as all the days of her life poured into the release of what she and Grissom had created.

As suddenly as it had started, the process was over. Sara heard the collective intake of air as the three women around her watched Dr. Torres lift a pale pink wiggly wet bundle of baby. He was holding the baby as little legs extended for the first time, arms stretched, a rosebud mouth opened and closed making a sound closer to a kitten than a human baby.

The doctor announced. "Healthy, beautiful," he patted and rubbed the pink, blood streaked baby on Sara's abdomen until a lusty cry was heard. "Ten toes, ten fingers."

The three women made the same "ah" sound as Sara's hand folded around the infant. Everyone in the room seemed to be talking at once but all Sara heard was the baby's breathe—in and out—perfection. Then its eyes looked up, confused, unfocused, clear brilliant blue like his father's. No one noticed when Grissom used the edge of a sheet to wipe his face.

Holding up scissors, Dr. Torres asked, "Does Dad want this honor?"

Grissom had to clear his throat several times before he could answer.

_A/N: And now you know-a boy! (For those who missed it above!) Let us know what you think...and we are taking a break after this one-not gone forever, just for a while (summer camp, law office, beach shopgirl-summer jobs). One more chapter of this story -be prepared, it's even sweeter!_


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: The last chapter! Hopefully, this will make up for CSI's season 11 finale! _

_Now it's your turn-we are asking for feedback! The response we get will play a big role in our decision of what's "next"-we will be gone for 6-8 weeks, and will decide when/how/if we return. So do your part, read, send a review-good, bad, indifferent-just a comment! While we are saying a temporary "bye" we are not closing the door on writing fanfics - yet-but we want to hear from readers!_

**A Pleasing Finale**

**Chapter 16 Epilogue**

The crimson sun sank slowly toward the distant mountains burning the horizon like fire; Sara faced east where the evening sky glowed with artificial light in the distance. She turned slowly to the west; so many tourists never saw this amazing sight—a glorious Nevada sunset unmarred by the false man-made luminosity of temples of greed.

She picked up one of the dozens of colorful toys scattered around the yard and joined her husband and son who were squatting at the edge of her small vegetable garden.

"He said 'bug'—I know he said bug," Grissom said.

"Gibberish," said Sara.

"No," Grissom insisted. "He's saying something—he obviously understands what I'm saying. See? He's nodding."

Sara handed her son the toy. He smiled showing four little teeth and jabbered a string of nonsense words. She giggled. "He just said this was his favorite toy and he loves Momma."

Eyes the same shade of azure blue met. "He could talk but he gets everything he wants without having to ask for it," Grissom muttered.

"Ba," the little boy said holding out the small car to his father. "Ba—ba."

"He should be talking—he understands words. Say car, Will," Grissom coaxed. "Say car." And then he put his lips together and made puttering sounds as he pointed to the car.

The little boy laughed and nodded his head.

Sara patted her husband's back. "He'll talk one day—asking a dozen questions a minute, dear."

Their son responded by laughing and pushing the car up his dad's arm and the two made other car noises as the little boy climbed on Grissom's leg and both ended up rolling around on the patch of grass.

Sara returned to the patio where a baby's portable crib held the newest addition to their family. She lifted the baby and immediately was rewarded with smiling gurgles and coos of a three month old. She turned to the sunset and lifted the baby higher so the weakening sun played on her little cherub daughter's fair skin and blonde curls.

She glanced at her husband and son who continued to roll the little car in the grass. She had never dared dream of this sight—not for years would she admit she wanted such domesticity in her life. Sitting down, she marveled at genetics—her son had her slim build, long legs, dark curly hair and his father's blue eyes. She cradled her daughter who was the chubby mirror of her father with pale blonde curls and long lashes over dark brown eyes—Sara's eyes.

The baby's gurgling had turned into grunting sounds of hunger and Sara lifted her shirt.

They were fortunate beyond words, she thought as the baby nursed. After a year in Costa Rica, Grissom had gotten a one year lecturer position at the university—and he had just agreed to a second year. Before they could settle back into their old home, actually before she left Costa Rica, Sara knew she was pregnant—her babies would be sixteen months apart. They had found a spacious house with a small back yard bordered by the state's land preserve west of Las Vegas which perfectly suited their growing family.

She glanced up at the happy squeals of her son. Grissom had the child in the circle of his arm while talking on the phone. "Jim and Mom are here!" He announced.

Jim Brass had finally retired and spent as much time at their house as he did in his own. Frequently, he used the excuse of driving Betty to their house as the reason for his visit, but Sara and Grissom knew he came for the excitement generated by one little toddler.

"Ba!" Will held up the small car and tried to wiggle free. Grissom held him and went to open the gate.

Will was named after his grandfather—a man he would never know. Shortly, after his birth as Sara and Grissom tried to decide on a name—Sara wanted to include 'Gilbert' and Grissom was adamantly against it—Sara had asked her mother-in-law how she had decided on a name for her son. Betty had explained, signing and laughing as she told the story.

"_My husband, Gil's father, was a botanist. He had written his thesis about a British botanist named Joseph Henry Gilbert—that's how Gil got his name! I wanted to name Gil after him, but he would not have that. Said everyone would call him 'Billy' or 'little Bill', so I didn't." _

_Sara said, "William—William Grissom." She smiled. "Actually, I like that very much."_

"_It's a long name for a little baby," Grissom said as he held his son in his arms. "We can call him Will, how does that sound?" _

_William Sidle Grissom was christened in Costa Rica in the same dress his father had worn—yards of lace and satin, even a bow tied in back—and he expressed his displeasure at how he was dressed by complaining loudly during the entire service. Half-dozen friends from Vegas flew to Costa Rica for the special occasion; Sara was astonished when the small church was filled—all the researchers and their families were there, a dozen volunteers came, Dr. Torres and his staff showed up. While almost everyone centered attention on the parents and baby, the local ladies, as their custom, showered Betty, the family matriarch, with congratulations, best wishes, and gifts of flowers at the small church reception. _

_When baby Elizabeth Laura Grissom was christened, in Vegas, those present at both occasions quietly noted the differences between the two events. The baby girl smiled and cooed at everyone as if she knew how beautiful she was in her daddy's dress. Catherine Willows, recently back in Vegas from some exotic place in the southern Pacific, handled arrangements for a very lavish party after the christening. Betty Grissom's friends from the college attended; at some time, every person who worked in the CSI lab showed up to celebrate, and dozens of people from the university came. _

"_Catherine invited all of Las Vegas," Sara whispered to Grissom. _

_Gil Grissom smiled so much his face hurt. He passed his son to Greg who seemed to enter a second childhood when spending time with Will. _

"_Little Beth knows she belongs in this dress!" Nick teased Grissom as the two watched women pass the baby to each other. _

"_Will was happy once he was out of the dress," Grissom added. He ducked his head near Nick's ear. "You really did not want the supervisor's job? Greg is really going to take it?" _

"_Yes, sir!" Nick grinned. "You know me—I've never been much for paperwork. After Ecklie's disastrous last appointment, I think he's thrilled to have Greg agree to it." _

_Grissom nodded toward Catherine. "She's doing well, it seems." The former CSI supervisor greeted everyone who came in the room. "I think she's running for mayor!"_

The gate banged closed. "Sara! Look who else came!" Grissom returned to the back yard with four people behind him.

"Greg! Nick!" Sara exclaimed. "How's work?" She shifted Beth to her other breast with such discrete skill no one noticed.

"Work is work," Greg said with a grin, "and constant paperwork."

"Ba ba ba," Will said over and over, stretching his arms to Brass. When Brass took the boy, he patted Jim's cheek, saying "Ba, ba."

"He needs to talk," Grissom complained. "All we get is gibberish!"

Brass laughed. "Who is this?" He pointed to his own chest.

Will laughed, "Ba!"

Brass pointed to Grissom. "Who is this?"

"Da!" The toddler said with a giggle.

"He talks, you just need to listen," Jim said as he pulled another toy car from his pocket. "Who gives you cars?"

"Ba!" Will said.

Grissom stood still, somewhat dumfounded by the conversation going on. Recovering, he said, "Yeah, remember that when he's sixteen."

Will pointed to Grissom "Da!" He twisted in Jim's arms, pointed to Sara and clearly said "Mama".

With a knowing grin, Brass asked, "Who is this?" and pointed to Betty.

Pausing for a moment, the little boy smiled. He spread the fingers on his hands, touched thumb to little finger and moved his hands outward, saying "ga-ma".

Betty beamed.

Grissom realized tutoring had been taking place. "When did you two do this?"

Brass and Sara started laughing. Betty signed "Every day for two weeks while you've been teaching." She smiled, signing, "My grandson is brilliant." She looked toward Sara, signing "So is my namesake but we will give her a few months before we expect greatness."

Grissom translated, adding "Now I'll have two little whiz kids speaking their own language!"

Sara motioned everyone to the kitchen, saying "Drinks inside", and a few minutes later, their company returned to sit in chairs facing the darkening mountains. Will ran from one adult to the next, a small car in each hand, speaking his own language of constant jabbering.

"How are you doing, Jim? Seriously—do you miss us at all?" Greg asked as Brass settled into a deck chair, propping his feet on a small table.

"It's funny," the older man said. "I feel…unencumbered, renewed, I don't know—freed from the past and I always thought I didn't have much of a past. I'm not expressing myself very well."

Sara smiled. She knew what he was trying to say. She shifted the baby to her shoulder as Will grabbed her knee. She pulled the toddler into her lap even as Grissom moved to take Will; she shook her head cradling the little boy with her free arm. "I know, Jim. It's in your mind, isn't it? It's—it's—extraordinarily light."

Brass smiled.

"Look at the stars!" Nick said suddenly; he touched Betty's arm and pointed upward. The sky had darkened to a deep indigo purple with a thousand separate points of light.

"Orion's Belt," Grissom said, pointing west and north. "And the Big Dipper."

"Star!"

Grissom's head turned. Greg, Nick, and Brass did the same. "He said star," Grissom said with surprise. "Will said star!" He signed for his mother. "He can talk—I knew he could! He's a smart boy!" Grissom clapped hands together. So did Will.

Greg raised his glass, "A toast to Will!" He said. The others followed.

Sara added, raising her glass of juice, "A toast to all of us—here and those absent!"

Voices followed, "To us! All of us!"

_Early the next day_:

The rising sun made wide streaks of orange and yellow across the sky as Sara eased back into bed. With so much to do in one day, she should stay up, but it was so quiet and peaceful and there was one thing she wanted.

"Everything okay?" A muffled voice asked as an arm caught her around the waist and pulled her close.

"Fine," she whispered.

"Good," her husband murmured, kissing her below her ear, working his way down her neck with his lips as he angled his body into her curves.

The warm ember that always glowed ignited and spread, blazing as Sara met her husband's desire with her own wish. His hand roamed over soft curves, cupped her breast, and worked its way to her nipple, circling it with his thumb.

Sara heard herself made a faint pleasurable sound as he lowered his head and captured her between his lips. She cradled his head as his tongue gently stroked around, across, in slow arousing circles. He did not remain long in one place, returning to her mouth where light teasing kisses quickly turned to hot, open-mouth, tongue intertwined ones until both were dizzy and breathless. They broke apart long enough to gasp air and to yank free of clothing.

Sara's fingers brushed against the rigid length of him; with a strangled groan, Grissom pulled her hand away.

"Not that," he muttered. "I want you." He covered her body with his, tangling fingers in her hair.

Instinctively, her thighs parted for him. He nudged his hips in place and continued to kiss her, fighting the urge to plunge into her. Slowly, he traced a path with whisper-light strokes, his palm, his fingers drifted, circled, and finally slipped between her folds.

Her back arched as he stroked and opened her, sliding one finger, then a second, inside her.

"Yes," he mumbled as her softness closed around him. She quivered. He stroked, his thumb teasing her intimately.

Sara clenched, tightened, as muscles rippled. "Gil," she whispered, "not alone—together." Her entire body trembled.

Slowly, erotically, he pushed into her. "Yes" the word came from both on a breathe of air as he crowded into her—all thoughts and energies concentrated on one act, on one loving word as he uttered her name over the pounding in his body. He surged, repeated the motion—once, a dozen times—caressing her inside and out until he heard his name gasped, felt her body dissolve into spasms of orgasm that caused his own to slam through him like a pistol shot.

Falling forward, he collapsed against her chest and felt the paired exertion of their lovemaking—panting breaths, wildly beating hearts, cooling moisture on skin. Grissom's arms closed around her and he pressed lips into her hair. Against his cheek, he felt her lips, a smile formed.

"I love you" she whispered, "more than I ever thought possible."

Grissom held her in his arms, always awed at the sense of peace and contentment that pervaded him in moments like this.

"It's ironic, you know," he finally said as Sara nestled against his body. "Love is the greatest risk of a lifetime yet gives more rewards than I ever imagined."

Her answer was a smile, one he felt without seeing as her body melted against his—the most intimate moment of making love.

He kissed her again, savoring the smell of her hair against his nose. The good ending, he thought, a pleasing finale...

And that is "The End" to our 50th story!

_A/N: Remember, we are counting on you! Those who always send such wonderful, encouraging comments, we thank you from the bottom of our collective hearts! You are the reason we enjoy writing. We will always be grateful to you for taking the time to write to us! _

_To everyone: have a great summer, enjoy the sunshine, enjoy your friends and family! Eat more, sleep more, visit more, read a good book! We are off to: summer camp as a counselor (Amelia), law office summer job (Yvette), and store clerk at the beach (Mimi)-'see' you in August, perhaps with a new GSR story! Long live Grissom and Sara-together!_


End file.
